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shivunin · 11 months

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To Build an End

(Cullen/Emmaera Lavellan | 1,524 Words | No warnings)

It was finally over.

When they left behind the ruins of the temple, they were not precisely where they’d been when they’d left the others behind. Varric had climbed from the dust and broken rock with her, both of them leaning unsteadily on each other until they could find Dorian and Cassandra. She ached to her bones, from the tips of her pointed ears to the blistered toes tucked into her boots. Her hair had come loose at a critical moment in that last push toward Corypheus, she’d lost a glove somewhere in the sky, and she had watched her friend vanish into the mountains.

All was not well—all would not be well for quite some time. Regardless, it was over.

“Send a raven,” she told Lace when they found her missing scouts at last, limping close enough that the croak of her voice could be heard. There was a half-collapsed wall to her left and she leaned hard enough against it that she worried she would send the second half of it toppling into the abyss.

“Already sent, Inquisitor,” Lace said. She cleared her throat and saluted, her eyes shining with the last of the Rift’s magic. “He’s really dead, huh?”

“Dead as I could make him,” Lavellan said. She thought of Hawke, of her assurances that Corypheus had been killed before.

Would they see their enemy again? Would he find some other doorway, some other crack to slip through into their world? She could not know. She did not know what happened to a body when it was scattered through reality and unreality at once. Perhaps she had merely fragmented him into several wholes and he would return to them as a legion of Coryphei. Perhaps he was simply and entirely dead.

Lavellan didn’t know that, either. She knew only that she wanted badly to be held, to be clean, and to sleep, not necessarily in that order.

But first: the mountain.

“Is everyone well enough to ride?” she called, her voice cracking in the middle of “enough.”

Cassandra, who had carried the unconscious witch from the ruins, made a displeased sound somewhere behind them.

“Except for Morrigan,” Emmaera amended, and squeezed her eyes shut when another pang gripped her leg. She would drink a potion in the saddle and that would fix it enough, but—they could not wait. Their people needed to see them well, and soon. She did not want another search party scouring the mountains for her body. The memory of the snow, of the cold after Haven’s fall echoed in her thoughts now.

No. No, they needed to go now.

“I suppose we’ll make it if we’re in some sort of hurry,” Dorian puffed, pressing both palms to his knees. “I suppose I rather agree that I wouldn’t prefer to hang around here at this particular moment.”

“Good,” Lavellan said, tucking her errant hair back behind her ear. She thought of the path up the mountain, of the ones waiting for her there.

She thought of Cullen, who would surely be beside himself while they waited. When she came to him, his hair would gleam gold in the torchlight and he would smile at her and—and she needed to see him now.

“Quickly then,” she went on, whistling for her hart. “Up the mountain to Skyhold—to home.”

It was finally over.

Over a year of pain and devastation, personal losses and private triumphs, and it was over at last. Corypheus was dead. The Breach—Cullen had checked it so many times he’d lost count—was gone, too. The rest would be a logistical nightmare; they might have united disparate groups for the sake of this battle, but the unrest that had been seeded in these past months would not be quelled when the sky was sealed shut again. There were still rifts out there, still people who needed the Inquisition’s help, but—

It was done.

Even now, as the crowd of the Inquisition’s allies and soldiers waited with eyes on the gate, there was an air of celebration below. Someone had rolled a barrel of mead into the courtyard from the Herald’s Rest and tapped it. Mugs had passed from hand to hand, but the advisors had all abstained out of duty and decorum. Cullen thought Josephine might have benefited from a stiff drink; it was surely not visible from below, but she’d worried her quill to bits with nervous fingers. He could relate. It all felt too easy to be safe. They had thought themselves victorious before, hadn’t they? Haven yet lay half-buried under snow for his follies.

If he had a choice, he would be pacing the gates below and waiting for her—for their return. Leliana’s messengers had been clear: the ruins had fallen, but the Inquisitor had climbed safely from the wreckage. She lived, she walked under her own power, and now he had only to wait.

Cullen knew patience very well; he had learned it at the end of a blade and without countless repetitions. If necessary, he could call upon a dozen verses of the Chant to still his itchy fingers, his anxious feet. Maker willing, he would not need them. Maker willing, she would climb the hill and step through the gate any moment now. Any moment—

“Peace, Commander,” Leliana murmured. Cullen, who’d been tapping the hilt of his sword with increasing vigor, stilled his fingers.

“She is near,” Leliana went on. She looked so impassive, only the faintest hint of a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. “Only a few moments more.”

“Truly?”Josephine asked, scribbling furiously. “Maker have mercy; I do not know if the catering will be ready. And the decor—”

“It will be fine, Josie,” Leliana murmured, stepping closer to her friend and resting a hand on the ambassador’s shoulder. “You’ll see.”

“Are you certain that—” Cullen began in an undertone, but Leliana was already shaking her head.

“Have you come to doubt me after so long, Commander?” she said, but she was still smiling. That was a good sign. He knew better than to anger their spymaster.

Cullen gestured sharply, shaking his head.

“Of course not! I only—”

The sound of horns cut off the end of the sentence, which was fortunate. Leliana knew precisely what he and Lavellan were to each other, but they had not acknowledged it publicly yet. It was a sign, perhaps, of how unsteady he felt that he hadn’t even considered less telling words. I only wish to see her again, to hold her safe—a sentiment that he felt keenly, but need not explain to Leliana. Neither Leliana nor anyone else here needed to hear such things. The only one who really needed to know was—

The Inquisitor strode into the courtyard below and their people erupted into cheers. Her armor was badly singed, but the burns showed worst in her hair. Her neat braids were gone. Instead, her hair fell in thick waves to her waist on the left. On the right, where her armor was most badly singed, it ended abruptly just above her elbow. Soot smudged her face and her gait was uneven. Her friends followed in her wake, each acknowledging the crowd in their way, but he did not look at them. His attention was entirely for her, assessing what little he could see from atop the stairs.

It was useless. Cullen was too far to discern much more. He had to hold still instead, had to present the correct face for their people, but—was she hurt? Was she hiding some injury beneath the burn marks and the armor? What had killing Corypheus cost her beyond what he could see? Cullen knew all too well the cost of a fight, the toll it took on one’s mind. It was not something he wished her to understand as he did.

This war had already cost her so much; what more had she lost this evening?

When she rounded the stairs at last, Emmaera’s eyes found him first. Cullen needed little more assurance than that: she met his eyes, green to gold, and smiled.

Well. Well, then.

Cullen held his composure long enough to bow for her as the other advisors did, but then he had little choice but to let go. What did it matter if everyone here knew that he loved her? What did it matter if they saw how she opened her arms to him, how she tucked her face into his neck, how he returned the gesture without question or hesitation?

“I am well,” she told him, half-laughing. The crowd roared even louder beneath them, but he could hear her clearly nevertheless. “All is well, Cullen. Creators, but I am glad to see you.”

“And I you,” he told her, careful not to hold too tightly even though he was loath to let go. When he’d embraced her, he’d tucked his nose just beneath her ear. Hidden under the smell of metal and blood and char, he caught the faintest hint of the oil she used in her hair.

Lavender—sweet lavender and his love, safe and returned to him despite all the odds.

And—it was finally, finally over.

#cullavellan #emmaera lavellan #cullen rutherford #dai #dragon age fic #yes hello i still adore them #shivunin scrivening

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vilha-alder · 3 months

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with veilguard coming this fall (hopefully) i just went back through the mess that is my canon world, cuz since dlc for origins i just completely ignored A LOT OF SHIT that is canon, cuz it didnt make sense with my characters

So im just gonna rant about my world, cuz i created basically my own story based on the games

So, starting with Heroine of Fereldan, Virsha Brosca, dwarf warrior (who fights with two swords yippe). She dated Alistair, but put him on the throne with Anora. She recruited Loghain (which led to A BIG FUCKING FIGHT WITH ALISTAIR obs) Morrigan was Virsha's best friend, so these two were realy close and both went emotinally through first, Virsha's messy break-up, then through the chaos that was final fight and the child. Morrigan truly cared for Virsha, Loghain was confused the whole time. And they stayed together the night after the did and before the fight. (also why do you guys say that Morrigan is one of the mages who betrays us? She clearly states WHY she left and whatever)

Then the whole Awakening happened. And after that Virsha became close with Zevran, and, eventually, they became a pair. During Witch Hunt, Zevran accompanied Virsha and they both went together with Morrigan through the eluvian and spent several years there helping raise Kieran (FOUND FAMILY ALL AROUNG). Eventually Virsha left back to Amaranthain and was like "wtf did you do during my abscence??? She found sir Pounce-a-lot, contacted everyone from the gang of Awakening, and they all return to create their own little division. The whole "looking for cure thing" is actually their plan. And you know what else? There was another person here that doesnt exist in canon: Fiareniall Lavellan, twin sister of Din'Adalahn Lavellan, who later became Inquisitor. Her story is a whole another drama, cuz both she and her brother were mages. And she was the fourth mage, but their clan didnt want to give her away, so everybody lied that she is not a mage, and she is a skilled hunter who uses bow (while also skilled in magic, everybody in the clan knew. they just hid it. She eventually left, for reasons THAT IS TOO LONG TO EXPLAIN family drama and so on)

So. My Hawke, Mariam, rogue, dated Varric. YES FUCKKK YOUUU BIOWARE!!! Which also led me to change the whole schtick of Varrric and Bianca, or more exactly, Varric learned through years to at least allow himself to love someone new. So there is that (the thing with Bianca in Inquisition happened, but Varric reacted differently and that was the last shit that finally let him heal from the whole thing)

So, after blowing up of the church, Mariam hid Anders and looked for a variants to safely get him out of Kirkwall. Remeber my awakening gang that got together again? Yeah, Virsha learned quite quickly about the whole thing because she made sure to check in on Anders without hum knowing and sent Fiarenial to take him back if he chose to do so. (he did, there is a whole misunderstanding plot where Virsha and gang thought that Anders hated them and Anders thought that they hated him) There is a whole schtick where Virsha and gang just gaslight everyone around them that, no, that is not Anders, the guy who blew up the church, he looks like him? Weird. he is actually Virsha's brother from another mother and his name is Andrei. (and when while small, but quite angry looking heroine of fereldan who is butch and muscular looks at you and just tells that with full confidence, WHATCHA GONNA DO? ARGUE?)

Which bring me to Inquistion. Din'Adalahn Lavellan, mage. Dated Dorian (i literally imagine him during the trailer being in Minrathos with Dorian and looking through the window like "....are you fucking kidding me"

The favourite child, who was sick a lot. He was treated like glass, while also prepared how to lead the clan. Became Herald and that when eventually Fiarenial showed up. (She hid the fact that she is Grey Warden. Also, she and the Amarnathain gang didnt have to deal with calling because Architector helped them with that. When Corypheus started the whole thing with grey wardens, the gang was like "wtf", and Architector send one of the sentient darkspawn as messenger, and blah-blah they agreed, magic and whatever whole another story)

Anyway, Fiaerinal eventually asked Virsha to come (because FIONA??? and also Inquisition could easily aquire a lot of information, so Virsha (and Zevran yes) helped in exchange for information (and also happily spent time with Morrigan) She helped to chose a new commander for orlesian wardens. Also, they mourned Loghain, because through years he became a friend (and like a father to Fiarenial)

yeah...

So going into Veilguar, I think about my Warden, who happily with Zevran and the gang still looks for the cure, and who is protected from calling due to their pact with Architector. (Also Morrigan and Kieran live in Amarathain now, cuz my Inquisitor was the one who drunk from the thing)

About Hawke, who will be so pissed if they kill Varric (that her husband how dare you). Also, girly whatcha doing in Weiishaupt

Abour my Inquisitor, who is just tired and angry at his friend and mentor (Solas) and his sister, who just wants to have a family and has two children with Cullen and also just fucking tired of constant bullshit

#dragon age

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felassan · 3 years

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Some DA trivia and dev commentary from Twitter

There’s a lot of different tweets, so I’m just pasting and linking to the source rather than screencapping them all or making several different posts or something. Post under cut for length.

User: Was dragon age 2 your favourite in the franchise?

David Gaider: DA2 was the project where my writing team was firing on all cylinders, and they wrote like the wind- because they had to! Second draft? Pfft. Plot reviews? Pfft. I was so proud of what we all accomplished in such a brief time. I didn't think it was possible. [source] DA2 is, however, also where the goal posts kept moving. Things kept getting cut, even while we worked. I had to write that dialogue where Orsino turned even if you sided with him, because his boss battle had been cut and there was no time to fix the plot. A real WTF moment. >:( [source]

Mike Rousseau: I remember bugging that! And then being told it wasn't a bug, and being so confused. Doing QA for DA2 was an experience. Trial by fire. [source]

DG: So I think it's safe to say DA2 is my favorite entry in the DA franchise and also the sort of thing I never want to live through ever again. Mixed feelings galore. [source]

User: (I personally blame whoever it was for ruining most romance arcs in other games for me; they don't live up to Fenris's romance storyline)

DG: I wrote Fenris, so uh - me, I guess? Or maybe his cinematic designer, who put in the puppy dog eyes. [source]

User: If DA2 had just been an expansion, do you think it would have been better received? There was a lot of great stuff in there, and I think my initial dislike of it was because of the zone reuse. If it hadn't needed to be a full game, would that issue not have arisen?

DG: Hard to say. It was either going to be an over-scoped expansion or an under-scoped sequel. If it had stayed an expansion, it might never have received the resources/push it DID get. [source]

User: I'd love to visit the universe where you had an extra year or so to work on it. You did a very good job as it stands, but it definitely had rough edges. Not just the writing team either. The whole game had hit and miss moments, that just a little more dev time could have fixed.

DG: On one hand, DA2 existed to fill a hole in the release schedule. More time was never in the cards. DA2 was originally planned as an expansion! On the other, if we had more time, would we have started doing that thing where we second guess/iterate ourselves into mediocrity? [shrug emoji] [source]

Jennifer Hepler: This is what I love about DA2. Personally, I greatly prefer something that's rough and raw and sincere to something that's had all the soul polished out of it. Extra time would have helped for art and levels, but it would have lost something too. [source]

DG: Right? I think we could have used some time for peer reviews (and fewer cuts), but I think the rawness of the writing lent a certain spark that we usually polished out. [source]

JH: Definitely. I think the structure (more character-driven) and the tightness of the timeframe let each individual writer's voice really come through. Polish can be very homogenizing. [source]

DG: I should add I'm not, by any means, against iteration. Some iteration is good and necessary. The problem that BioWare often had is that we never knew when to stop. Like a goldfish, we would fill the space given to us by constantly re-iterating on things that were "good enough". [source]

Patrick Weekes: I appreciate your incredibly diplomatic use of the past tense on "had". :D [source]

User: DA2 was my gateway into the series and I’m so happy it is. I love the game the way that it is. It’s one of my favorites of all time. But I am also aware of everything that was said here. If it were remastered, do you think it would change?

DG: I'd be surprised if it was ever remastered. If it was, do you really think they'd change things? Do remasters do that? No idea. [source]

User: Both sides got undercut as I recall. Didn't that whole sequence also end with the mage leader embracing blood magic? It was very much "a plague on both your houses" moment, at least for me.

DG: Yep. Orsino was supposed to have his own version of Meredith's end battle, which only happened if you sided with the templars. That got cut, but the team still wanted to use the model we'd made for him. So... that happened. [source]

DG: I would personally say that DA2 is a fantastic game hidden under a mountain of compromises, cut corners, and tight deadlines. If you can see past all that, you'll see a fantastic game. I don't doubt, however, that it's very difficult for most to do that. [source]

PW: I love DAI with all my selfish "I worked on this" heart, but DA2's follower arcs and relationships are probably my favorite in the series. [source]

User: As I've expressed many times, I love the game, especially it's writing and characters but, for me, the most impressive aspect of it, in consideration of it's lack of time for drafts and revisions, is the 2nd act with Arishok. What amazingly complex character and fantastic duel

User: Just played it again and I have to agree. Though he is bound by the harsher tenants of the Qun, he makes valid points about free marcher society. Though it is obvious that he and Hawke will come to blows eventually, the tension builds gradually and understandably

DG: Luke did such a fantastic job with the Arishok I found myself sometimes wishing the Qunari plot had just been THE plot. [source]

User: What do you think would have changed, story wise, if you had more time for DA2?

DG: I would have taken out that thing where Meredith gets the idol. It was forced on me because she needed to be "super-powered" with red lyrium for her final battle. Being "crazy", however, robbed her side of the mage/templar argument of any legitimacy. I hated hated hated that. [source]

User: I deeply lament that there wasn't/couldn't be some sort of DA2 equivalent of Throne of Bhaal's Ascension mod.

DG: I'd have done it, if DA2 had allowed for anything but the most rudimentary of modding. ;) [source]

User: I mean, and I think I understand where you were trying, but how much legitimacy did the Templars and her as top Templar have after they're keeping the mages locked up against their will in the old slave quarters? Feel free to not reply.

DG: I think it's the kind of discussion which requires nuance, and which discussions on the Internet are not prone to. [source]

User: Was a compromise that the quest lines don’t branch? It felt like it was supposed to be that way but then you end up in the same place later regardless of what you pick. Like I hoodwinked the templars so good to help the apostates escape but in Act II they were caught anyway.

DG: I remember us having a lot more branching in the initial planning yes. Most of this got trimmed out in the first or second wave of cuts, in an effort to not cut the plots altogether. [source]

DG: "If you could Zack Snyder DA2, what would you change?" Wow. I'm willing to bet Mark or Mike (or anyone else on the team) would give very different answers than me, but it's enough to give a sober man pause, because that was THE Project of Multiple Regrets. [source] I mean, it's the most hypothetical of hypotheticals. It's never gonna happen. I wouldn't be surprised if EA considered DA2 its embarrassing red-headed stepchild. We'd also need to ignore that in many ways DA2 was as good as it was bad BECAUSE of how it was made. But that aside? [source] First, either restore the progressive changes to Kirkwall we'd planned over the passing of in-game years or reduce the time between acts to months instead of years... which, in hindsight, probably should have been done as soon as the progressive stuff was cut. [source] I'm sure you're like "get rid of repeated levels!" ...but I don't care about that. All I wanted was for Kirkwall to feel like a bigger city. Way more crowded. More alive! Fewer blood mages. [source] I'd want to restore the plot where a mage Hawke came THIS close to becoming an abomination. An entire story spent trapped in one's own head while trapped on the edge of possession. Why? Because Hawke is the only mage who apparently never struggles with this. It was a hard cut. [source]

User: I would LOVE to hear more details about this! I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a short story?

DG: I don't even remember the details of the story, sorry. There was a fight, and you caught the bad guy and then realized none of it was real and woke up idk [source]

DG: I'd want to restore all those alternate lines we cut, meaning people forget they'd met you. Or that they knew you were a mage. Or, oh god, that maybe they'd romanced you in DAO. So much carnage. [source] I'd want to restore the Act 3 plots we cut only because they were worked on too late, but which would have made the buildup to the mage/templar clash less sudden. Though I don't remember what they were, now. Some never got beyond being index cards posted on the wall. [grimace emoji] [source] As I mentioned elsewhere, I'd want to restore Orsino's end battle so he wouldn't need to turn on you even if you sided with him. And I'd want an end fight with the templars that didn't require Meredith to have red lyrium and go full Tetsuo. [source] Heck, maybe an end decision where you sided with neither the mages nor the templars. Because it certainly ended up feeling like you could brand both sides as batshit pretty legitimately, no? That was never planned, tho. No idea how to make that feel like an actual path atm. [source] Maybe an option to go "umm, Anders... what are you DOING?" 👀 [source] And, of course, a Varric romance, because Mary took that "slimy car salesman" character we'd planned and did the impossible with him. I can feel Mary glaring at me for even suggesting this, tho. [source] Lastly, the original expanded opening to the game which allowed you to spend time with Bethany and Carver BEFORE the darkspawn attacked. And, um, that's about it off the top of my head. Zack Snyder, WHAT PANDORA'S BOX HAVE YOU OPENED. [source] Shit, I remembered two more things: 1) Restore the "Varric exaggerates the heck out of the story" at the beginning of every Act, until Cassandra calls him on it. Yes, that was a thing. 2) Make DA: Exodus. Yes, I am still bitter. [source] God damn it, I meant "Make DA: Exalted March". The DA2 expansion, NOT Exodus since that was DA2's original name and makes no sense. Because the expansion ended with Varric dying, and that will always be on my "things left undone" list. [source]

User: Whaaaat?

DG: Well, you know that scene in Wrath of Khan where Spock goes into the dilithium chamber because he's a Vulcan? Well, imagine that but with Varric and red lyrium and because he's a dwarf. ;) [source]

John Epler: I distinctly remember referencing the bit from MGS4 where you crawl through the microwave corridor in the split screen, while cinematic battle rages on the other half. [source]

DG: It would have been glorious, John. Glorious. [source]

JE: I don't think I've ever been so certain what a shot should look like as I did Hawke coming in and finding Varric in the broken throne, just like when he was telling Cassandra his story. [source]

DG: It would have come full circle! Auggghh, it still kills me. [source]

User: Lord, you folks are a little too good at this.

JE: The true secret behind videogame narrative is knowing how to make yourself seem a lot more clever than you actually are. [source] 'Oh, we TOTALLY planned that.' [source]

User: Ok, this thread [the DA2 regrets thread, which is the big chunks above] but Inquisition.

DG: My regrets about Inquisition are, more or less, the normal kind. Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid. [source]

User: You can keep your Varric romance, I want a Flemeth romance goddamnit!

DG: I would allow for one flirt option, and then a recording of Kate Mulgrew laughing for three minutes straight. [source]

User: I had a hypothesis about the repetitive caves in DA2. They're repetitive because it's Varric telling the story and he didn't consider them important. They're like sets in a play. (Okay, I really suspect it was a time/money/resources thing but I like my fake explanation better.)

DG: Hang a lampshade on it, maybe? Cassandra: "But that's the exact cave you were in last time?" Varric: "Whatever. They all look the same, I'm not THAT kind of dwarf. Can we move on?" [source]

User: that makes sense, hypothetically to make Varric romanceable and keep his arc—that had to happen for the main plot—I imagine you would have to make double the content (or more)? which would've been a tall order given the time/budget constraints the game was under

DG: Right. When it comes to "romance arc" vs. "follower story arc", we generally only had time to do one or the other. Never both. Romancing Varric would have meant not getting the story of his that you did. [source]

Mary Kirby: The one exaggeration I really, REALLY wanted, that we never got to do was Varric narrating his own death scene with Hawke weeping over him, then cutting to Cassandra's pissed off glaring at him. [source]

DG: Haha! The one I wanted was Varric's plot where he takes on the baddies single-handedly, sliding across the floor like Jet Lee, action movie-style, until finally Cassandra gets irritated and he has to admit Hawke & the rest of the party showed up to help. [source]

MK: We did that one! (He didn't do any Jet Lee moves, though.) Jepler gave him letterboxing to get The Good, the Bad, & the Ugly showdown vibes while he shot a ton of mooks single-handed. [source]

DG: Wow. Shows how much I remember. [source]

JE: I found it! I remember seeing this sequence as my treat for doing a bunch of much more challenging work. It was fun to see how far I could push our limited library of animations. [link] [source]

DG: Heh awesome. I could have sworn it was cut, honestly. I think I was even in that meeting. [source]

User: no disrespect but that’s surprising and rich of Mary “Hard in Hightown” Kirby to think DA2 shouldn’t have had a Varric romance when she wrote an entire book of Varric’s self-insert character pining over his Hawke insert character… HIH is the reason we had VHawke Summer 2018

DG: I can't *really* speak for Mary, or how she feels about it now compared to back then. I only know how she felt about it back then, and I'm not sure it was as much the concept of the romance but that Varric's entire story would be bent to "romance arc" ...a very different thing. [source]

JH: I remember pushing to have the first DLC start with Hawke having an option to ask Varric, "Did you tell Cassandra about us?" and if you picked it, Varric would answer, "Of course not, baby. I told her you were sleeping with X..." and then proceed as if you had had a full romance. [source]

DG: I still wonder how that would have gone over. x) [source]

JE: Okay, one more DA2 thing. Putting together the cinematics for this scene was a blast. [link] [source]

MK: These lines are my greatest legacy. I want "Make sure the world knows I died... at Chateau Haine!" inscribed on my tombstone. [source]

JE: I was so glad no one said 'no' to the crane shot. [source]

MK: It needs that crane shot. It's the perfect icing on that cake made from solid cheese. [source]

DG: The designers were all "we need more combat" and I think we were all "I think you underestimate just HOW interesting we can make this dinner party". [source]

JE: And finally. I think @SherylChee wrote the one-liner. I think we had a collection of like, 20. [link] [source]

Sheryl Chee: Yeah! Something like that! I remember submitted a whole bunch and Frank said you only needed one. Wish I'd kept the other fifteen. [source]

JE: A random chooser where, each time through the scene, you get a different one-liner. [source]

JE: DA2 is the project I'm the proudest of. I also absolutely get that it didn't land for a lot of people. But I don't think it's inaccurate to say that, in a lot of ways, DA2 defined my career. [source] Everyone spent a year working at their maximum ability. I was a fresh cinematic designer and was given all of Varric's content, as well as the Act 1 Finale mission. It was a lot for someone who had been doing the Cinematics thing for literally 6 months. [source] There's some stuff in there I can't look at without wincing. And there's some stuff I'm genuinely proud of. Not to mention, it was my introduction to most of the writing team. Several of whom I'm still working with today! Albeit in a different capacity [source] Also, weirdly, one of my most enduring memories of Dragon Age 2 is how much Bad Company 2 we'd play at lunch. It was a LOT. [source] Every game I've worked on has a game I played attached to it. ME2 is Borderlands. DA2 is Bad Company 2. DAI is DayZ. I, hmm. There's a progression there. I don't know how I feel about it. [source]

User: Is DA4 going to be tarkov then?

JE: I've kind of churned out of Tarkov for now. Probably Hunt Showdown, at least right now. [source]

User: I think people also don't take nuance into consideration -- like I FULLY acknowledge the flaws in my favorite games and will openly criticize them, but that doesn't mean they're not my favorite games anymore??? You can like and thing and still be critical of it.

JE: A lot of my favourite shit is deeply flawed! I acknowledge it and I think it's interesting to dissect the flaws. [source]

User: I still wish Justice was an actual character in DA2 rather than a plot point.

DG: There was a moment during DAI where we *almost* put in you running into Justice with the Grey Wardens, and he's all "Kirkwall? I never went to Kirkwall" [source]

User: Does that imply that Justice was shoehorned in to DA2?

DG: Nah, it was an in-joke where we thought it'd be fun to suggest that "Justice" was simply some demon that tricked Anders in DA2. Wooo those tricky demons! We didn't do it, though. [source]

User: [about templars] except, I don't think it had very much legitimacy to begin with. keep in mind, we interact with other characters with the same argument. The one that comes to mind is Cullen, a sane templar in power. The templar's side of the argument is inherently flawed.

DG: I don't doubt that many people agree with you, and yet people can and do argue on behalf of the templars as well. My place isn't to pick a side, but to provide evidence that players can interpret for themselves [source]

User: Can you shed some light for us on how DA was able to do multiple same-sex romance options for different genders but the Mass Effect team treated them like the plague? What process existed for your team that just wasn't their for the other tentpole franchise?

DG: Different people making the decisions, almost different cultures. I don't know what it's like now, but for many years the Mass Effect team and the Dragon Age team were almost like two different studios working within the same building. [source]

User: It truly boggles the mind. Kudos for doing demonstrably better on consistent queer representation than the ME teams. Y'all never needed us to make petitions to try to get the studio's attention and ask them to do better by us. That's the fight we're once again embroiled in now.

DG: Honestly, I don't feel like tut-tutting the Mass Effect team. They did their part, and if they were a bit later to the show than the DA team they certainly did more than almost every other game out there -- and willingly. [source]

Updates begin here

User: So what was the reason for naming Dragon age 2 "Dragon age II" and not using a subtitle?

DG: As I recall, that was purely a publisher decision. I think they wanted to avoid the impression it was an expansion. [source]

User: Is there no chance of ever remaking DA2 under better circumstances? -Somehow remove the repetitiveness of gameplay by making changes and updating the tech and adding much more to the storyline. It could almost be a new very exciting game.

DG: I'd say there's zero chance of that. Let's keep our hopes up for the next DA title instead. [source]

User: I am a little confused here, help me out here please! How exactly was the cut boss battle with Orsino supposed to work out? How it would've kept him from turning against the player?

DG: It means that, if you sided with the templars, the entire boss bottle at the end would have been against Orsino and the mages. No fight against Meredith. The end decision would have been more divergent. [source]

User: I do remember that one of the reasons going around for that, was that resources were going to the transition to Frostbite. I'm still not fully sold on that having been a good choice. I felt that more time should have been given for that transition considering it was made for FPSs

DG: We didn't transition to Frostbite until DAI. Given our time frame for DA2, I don't think we *could* have transitioned to a new engine. [source]

User: Since your talking about the what could have been for DA2. Could you say what your script was for Anthem? Cause I remember reading that you wrote the plot on that game.

DG: I created a setting for Anthem and scripted out a plot - but, as I understand it, almost none of that ended up being used. So it's a bit pointless to talk about what I'd planned, as that'd be for some completely different type of game. [source]

User: [in reference to the exchange above where DG said “Being "crazy", however, robbed her side of the mage/templar argument of any legitimacy. I hated hated hated that.” re: Meredith] except, I don't think it had very much legitimacy to begin with. keep in mind, we interact with other characters with the same argument. The one that comes to mind is Cullen, a sane templar in power. The templar's side of the argument is inherently flawed.

If I missed a tweet, got the wrong source link or included a tweet twice, feel free to let me know and I’ll correct.

Edit / Update: Post update 22nd April

#dragon age #bioware #video games #fenris #the Fenaissance #long post #longpost #cassandra pentaghast #my lady paladin #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #mass effect

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jaxxwrites4you · 3 years

Text

Seeker of Truth (Or Cassandra Meets the Man She Thinks is a Liar, Except He Cannot Lie to Her.) - Soulmate AU one shot

He thought it was bullshit that you couldn’t lie to your soulmate. Sure, you shouldn’t lie about important things but what if you needed to lie for their safety? What if there were things better forgotten than dragged back to the surface? A lot of what ifs that he asked more because he disliked the idea of being laid so bare before a person without his consent.

Varric was incredibly lucky that when the Seeker had interrogated him he had no clue where Hawke was. No, it wasn’t until after he was already being dragged down to Fereldan by the woman that he found out where his friend was and at that point Cassandra thought asking him was pointless. If she did get the wild hair to ask him though, he would have no choice but to tell her. Finding out that the tall, strong and chiseled woman was his soulmate was not something that he had been able to deal with just yet. Between being interrogated and threatened, as well as being dragged from his home, he found it very difficult to be okay with that realization. Under any other circumstances he would have thanked the Maker for giving him an incredibly driven and fierce soulmate, someone who unlike his previous entanglement, would choose him over anyone else.

Andraste’s ass he was worried if he told her that he was her soulmate she would actually stab him this time. No, he would go and tell the Divine what happened and then he would head back to Kirkwall, where he wouldn’t have to worry about being an even bigger disappointment to the Seeker.

***

Cassandra thought it was rather practical that you could not lie to your soulmate, up until she realized who her soulmate was. The dwarf was infuriating and beyond that she was certain he was lying to her. Which meant one of two things: One, it was possible to have an unrequited soulmate and two, she couldn’t lie in retaliation. No one knew enough about the soulmate connection to know if the first thing was possible but if it was she felt as though it was a punishment on her part. She would never have someone who was meant for her, made for her, and if she ever let Varric know he would never let her live it down after everything she had done to him. That was the other thing that was… frustrating about this whole situation. She had been quite terrible to him when they first met, threatening him and stabbing his book, punching him. The Seeker could continue to list all the things he might hold against her, but she didn’t need the help feeling worse about the situation than she already did.

The whole situation became even more confusing as the two of them became friends of a sort, even helping each other after the avalanche at Haven. Leliana had already figured out what was going on, even before they headed back to Fereldan, but other than that Cassandra had told only one other person of her issue. Bia Trevelyan had proven themself a very good friend and they had been concerned about the woman’s foul mood after learning that Varric had sent for Hawke. The mage had noticed that her level of anger was far different than any they had seen before, especially when the Seeker and the rogue were actually starting to get along. When they asked, she had decided that the Inquisitor deserved the truth. Bia had looked surprised at first but then it was like a realization had dawned on them, an odd and knowing glint in their eyes after the fact.

It was nearly two weeks before Cassandra and Varric spoke again, just before they were set to travel with Bia out to Crestwood to meet up with Hawke’s warden friend. The mage had rather sneakily managed to use her love of Varric’s books as a way to get them to apologize to one another. The Nevarran warrior was grateful for it though, especially when the dwarf managed his usual type of humor over her excitement to read the newest chapter in Swords and Shields. It had been difficult to see him looking so down or to know she was the reason he was leaving a room as she entered. Their relationship was still on the mend and things were still tentative but there was some relief in knowing it wasn’t as damaged as she thought.

***

Bia wished they would just talk, actually talk, because they would probably realize what the other had been holding back. They tell Cullen as much, unable to hide their thoughts on the matter when he asks. Their Commander, their soulmate, tells them that the two are both so stubborn it might not be that easy. They’re willing to take that risk.

***

“Listen, Spitfire, you know I respect you.” Varric started, eyebrows furrowed, “But I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring Cassandra on this one. Please.”

He’s been dealing with enough as it is, helping Hawke get back to Fenris and tearing his publisher a new one after finding out how well his books do in Orlais. When Bianca had shown up he’d felt his heart fall into his stomach, which only worsened when Bia said Cassandra would be part of the group going to help at Vallamar. Maker’s breath did the Inquisitor have it out for him after he’d told them off for digging into his love life? He’d avoided talking about Bianca when the Seeker had interrogated him, but only just. He’d felt that he was toeing the line of what was safe to say but he’d managed, now he might have no choice but to reveal that information.

“Try to understand Varric; Bull and the Chargers are out on a mission currently,” Bia replied, “And Blackwall requested to be part of the guard going with Josephine on her meeting in Denerim. Cass is the only warrior we have right now.”

Well… shit.

***

Cassandra had been polite in her reaction to Bianca’s betrayal, but the fact that she had been able to lie to Varric meant she was not his soulmate. Even with how upset said dwarf was, it had been a relief when the Seeker realized that, although that shouldn’t be what she’s thinking about at this moment. Nonetheless when they leave Vallamar, there are no goodbyes to the dwarven woman, especially not after she threatened the Inquisitor. Varric had told her off for that and Cassandra felt a small bit of pride in knowing how loyal Varric was to Bia and what they were doing. It was at camp that evening that the Seeker gained an important piece of information, but not one she had ever expected. The Inquisitor and Sera had already gone to their tents, the soldiers had just switched out watch shifts and it was quiet. She watched as Varric wrote, focused on whatever it was, as he sat across the fire from her and she wondered what it might be like to have his focus directed at her. A thought that made her face flush despite herself and Cassandra was grateful to the Maker that he did not look up at such an inopportune moment.

“Whatever you’re writing must be important Varric, I do not think I have ever heard you be quiet for this long before.” she stated, the quip only meant to instigate a conversation. The look of surprise on the dwarf’s face told her he had not expected a joke, certainly not from her.

“Why Seeker, are you making a joke at my expense?” He teased, his shoulders relaxing a bit, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You might be surprised by the things I am capable of, if you cared to pay attention.” Cassandra retorted dryly, “I do not hate you Varric, I would hope that despite all the problems we have had we are friends now, aren’t we?”

The look of surprise on his face was a pleasant change from the anger she had seen earlier, she felt a small smile spread across her own lips, pleased that she was not the one he was upset with for once.

“We are.”

He said it so softly she almost missed it, but she catches it and him, realizing he had said that without meaning to. Like he had been compelled to answer her. He can’t look her in the eye for the rest of their trip back to Skyhold.

***

“You were not lying when you said you didn’t know where the Champion was.”

It is a statement and not a question, there is a certainty in the Seeker’s voice and he knows that she knows. He’d managed to avoid her since his slip up at camp that one night, but Bia had told him he couldn’t keep that up forever. Spitfire was probably the whole reason she had known when and where to find him, between them and Nightingale it wouldn’t have been difficult to figure out.

“I told you I wasn’t” He replied, “I didn’t lie about anything you asked me, Seeker.”

She frowned, brows knitted together, “Yes, well, I suppose I was trying to convince myself you were because that would be easier to deal with.”

There’s a moment of silence before she speaks up again.

“I thought it would be easier to think that than to face the reality that I had been terrible to you.” she paused, taking a deep breath, “And I was certain you would hate me even if I told you I was certain I was your soulmate. I did not lie to you about anything during the interrogation you know.”

Varric had expected anger or that she could not see the two of them being successful soulmates, not that she had thought he hated her. Oh. Oh.

“Andraste’s flaming ass we’re both idiots,” He mumbled, “I thought you hated me Seeker, thought you deserved better than some short rogue who couldn’t even keep his friends safe.”

The woman in front of him laughed, a full and throaty noise he decided immediately that he loved, “I suppose we could have avoided this issue if we had just talked. We are both idiots, but there are worse people to be a fool with.”

When she walks across the room in just a few long strides, hand curling around his tunic collar, leaning down to place a chaste kiss against his lips everything seemed to fall into place. Nothing had felt this right before and he was certain that as long as she stayed with him it would stay this way.

***

The next morning when Cassandra and Varric share breakfast in the Main Hall, both wearing all too soft smiles, Bia felt themself grin. Those two were just another reminder of how overcoming hardship was worth it, of how this world was worth saving. They’d have to make sure there was a world left, because Maker be damned they wanted to be the Maid of Honor.

#cassandra x varric #cassaric #tethraghast #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #soulmate au #i love writing these dumbasses #cassandra pentaghast #varric tethras #from the queue straight to you

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queenofbaws · 2 years

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not exactly sure how this would manifest itself but "right person, wrong time" for hawke/varric? if you can? <3

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

“Oooh, my, my, Varric,” Hawke had drawled, voice pitched high like some noble lady overhearing a juicy piece of gossip at an Orlesian salon. She’d dropped herself into his chair without any sort of decorum, lacing her fingers together solely so she could set her chin upon them and bat her eyelashes. “You know...I never had you pegged for the jealous type.”

“Not jealous,” he’d said back, probably a touch too quickly at that, “Concerned. I’m a taken man, Hawke, Bianca’s the jealous one.” He’d chuckled as he’d said it, but she hadn’t; no, if memory served, she’d actually gotten pretty quiet after that.

But that was the thing about memory - it had a habit of changing around on you. Maybe it hadn’t happened that way, him saying that and her usual snickering tapering off. Maybe her smirk hadn’t withered into something smaller, flatter, something turned down at the corners. As a narrator he’d never been terribly reliable - even when it came to the facts of his own life - so it stood to reason that maybe, just maybe, the conversation hadn’t happened that way. If there was any one thing he was good at, after all, it was lying, and lying was only a step away from exaggerating, so that was probably all it was.

(He typically opted to ignore that the second thing he was good at was spotting shitty self-serving bullshit from a mile away.)

It was a pointless thing to dwell on now; insulting, really, considering there was a hole in the sky and the world seemed pretty damn intent on ending. Demons were falling from the heavens themselves and there he was, folding and unfolding the memory of a single conversation like a letter, worrying at it until its edges frayed and the ink smeared. There were a million more pressing matters that required - deserved - his attention, but...but at the end of the day...at the end of most days, if he was being honest, it was always Hawke he found himself thinking of. Wondering about. Missing.

Those were the nights he couldn’t help but run through that goddamn conversation until he made himself sick.

He’d said something about Blondie being dangerous, then, or desperate, or complicated, or a synonym with roughly the same number of syllables, and that felt like proof he was misremembering, too. What had he ever had against Anders back then? They’d been friends, pals, co-conspirators grinning over their increasingly ridiculous lists of how to best get back at Bartrand, trading playful jabs over drinks as they cheated each other out of ill-gotten coin. There’d been no smoking rubble in the Chantry square yet, there’d been no impassioned speeches in the blood-soaked Gallows - he’d had no reason to bristle when he’d first heard the rumors about the two of them.

Except maybe he had. Maybe Hawke had been that reason.

And maybe that was what was coloring the whole thing now that he was looking back on it.

She had smiled and said something flip in return, something about not being turned off by crazy or wanting to follow in her mother’s footsteps, and that he really couldn’t remember because there were so many things she could’ve said, so many things that would’ve fit - at least from where he was now, knowing what he knew about where the story ended. Usually that was the part of the memory where he convinced himself her expression had changed again, that he’d seen she had been stricken in some way, that...

That he’d yanked the rug out from under her feet and left her to stumble. That they’d both known from the first moment they’d wrenched themselves out of the Deep Roads, bloody and bruised and more than just a little bit broken, that there would never be anyone in the world meant for each other in quite the same way they were, and maybe it was about time one of them finally said it aloud. That she’d been hoping he’d been jealous. That she’d been hoping.

And he’d picked Bianca after all.

#mrs-theirin #six sentence weekend #queenie writes dragon age #DINGDINGDINGDINGDING congrats quill - youve won the 'a prompt shakes me like a squeak toy until i have to just keep writing for it' award XD #there will come a day where i dont have endless feelings about this convo in da2 but uhhHHHH today? not the day.

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sunxxblessed · 2 years

Text

Cullen had been expecting this moment to come.

It had been three days since Alina Hawke had arrived at Skyhold and everyone found out about Cullen’s relationship with her. He had greeted Alina with the most passionate kiss. Two years. They had been apart for two damn years, and everyday had felt like pure torture. He kept his ring close to his chest, with the key to her estate in Kirkwall. Every night he kissed it until he could kiss her again. Their vows still echoed in his head. Til death do us part. But they were alive, and he hadn’t even known where his wife was.

Until she was suddenly with him again, with no warning. Varric hadn’t even told him anything about bringing Alina to Skyhold. Cullen hadn’t even cared that nearly the whole Inquisition had been there when he greeted his mage. He refused to let go of her, to stop kissing her, even as he saw the look of confusion (or was it betrayal?) on Cassandra’s face. When he finally pulled away from Alina, he had told Cassandra they would speak later, but he needed time with his wife first. Cassandra hadn’t spoken to him since.

Now she was tossing him a sword and telling him to spar with her. The first ten minutes were filled with only the sound of metal clanging against metal. Soon, though, the yelling started.

“You knew I was looking for Hawke, Cullen! Why didn’t you tell me where she was?!” Cassandra’s words were punctuated with a slash at Cullen’s torso. He blocked quickly, glaring at the Seeker.

“Because I didn’t know where she was, Cassandra!” He snapped back, pushing her sword away with his own. “That was the whole point! She never told me where she was so there was no risk of me telling you.”

Cassandra stepped back then, surprised by his words. The anger quickly came back and dove in with a particularly brutal strike, which Cullen only just managed to roll out of the way of. He parried with his own, surprised by her ferocity.

“But you never told me! You didn’t tell me you were in a relationship with her! No, that’s right, you’re married to her,” she yelled.

Cullen sidestepped as she struck again. This was turning out to be a full on attack instead of a friendly sparring match. As he went to strike at Cassandra, she knocked his blade aside and straight out of his hand. She dove at the commander and tackled him to the ground, pinning him there with her blade pointed at his face. Cullen on stared back at her, no sign of fear in his eyes.

“She’s my wife, Cassandra,” he said softly. “I had to protect her. After everything we had been through, after all she did in Kirkwall, I wasn’t going to let you come in and… torture her, or whatever you had planned to do. She needed a break. Even if it meant she and I couldn’t be together for a while.”

Cassandra scowled but lowered her blade. She helped Cullen back to his feet before turning away from him.

“I understand your need to protect your family. I… can not say I would not do the same. But we needed her, Cullen! If she had been here…”

“If she had been here the breach would have still happened, Cassandra! Alina is strong, the strongest mage I’ve ever seen, but she is just one person. She couldn’t stop what happened at the Conclave.”

Cassandra glared at the ground for a long moment before sighing and looking back to Cullen. He was watching her carefully, unsure if she would attack him again. When she didn’t raise her sword again, he relaxed.

“I know. I am sorry for how I have behaved. It still hurts that you felt you could not trust me with this after all we have been through, but I think I understand.” Cassandra smiled softly and placed a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “The Inquisition is glad to have you both here now. Now go, I’ve kept you from your wife long enough.”

Cullen smiled and clapped his own hand onto Cassandra’s shoulder before walking away. He knew she wasn’t over this yet. It would take time to get used to, to forgive him. But they would get there eventually.

(Little fic to for @zerotxhero ❤️)

#ooc #//Cullen Rutherford #//Cassandra Pentaghast #Cullen x Hawke #this was longer than I planned #but I kind of love how it came out??#just a little fic

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the-cryptographer · 3 years

Text

It’s still Monday somewhere! @monthofmerrill Here’s the last of the ficlets I wrote for the Month of Merrill. Thanks so much for hosting the event x’)

12. Vallaslin (Feynriel & Merrill, post-canon) 13. Historian (Merrill/Velanna, Arlathvhen) 14. Kitten (Anders/Merrill, Act III) 15. Bookend (Merrill & Varric, The Last Straw, Double Drabble) EX. Halla Statue (Celene/Merrill, Wicked Hearts)

[and I’ll eventually get them all up on ao3]

So, funny story, I wanted to write a fifteenth ficlet to tie the collection together, but I made the mistake of also asking hez to throw a crack ship at me and I ended up with an extra extra chapter. So here’s some Celene/Merrill above the cut and everything else below the cut. I’m not sure if it’s my favourite of the bunch, but it’s easily the most cracktastic so~

EX. Halla Statue (Celene/Merrill, Wicked Hearts)

The vines lashed out, instantly growing protrusions – thick and jagged and off-white like roots. They caught Merrill under the elbow, scratching her skin but holding her tight to the wall. The halla statues clattered – a wooden chime where they swung against each other along her belt. Merrill inhaled deeply, before rearranging her grip on the lattice and finding a safer perch for her foot. She pulled herself up, sloughing off the vines that held her as she went.

The building was so tall, set atop terrace over towering terrace over a raised hill over a wide field of cut hedges and artificial ponds. And the estate was even wider than it was tall, palace run to garden to palace to one apartment after the other.

Merrill had hardly known where to begin, but she had started her search on the southern side of the estate, crawling out from the burnt ruins of Halamshiral, and made her way across it as methodically as she should. Which wasn’t very. She’d gotten lost several times, and then distracted several times more chasing halla statues – left standing on high ledges, or strewn in strange corners, or half buried in dirt in planter boxes. And it was an idle fancy, compared to what she’d come there for, but she supposed there was no harm in finding them a better home.

She climbed her way to the balcony ledge and pulled herself up, heaving with both arms and none of her magic, until she was high enough to roll over the railing and onto the flat white marble. And Merrill didn’t realise the balcony was neither full with a crowd to be lost in, or empty enough to afford privacy, until she stood and found a woman peering at her curiously.

“Oh, hello,” Merrill said. She felt anxious and flushed, but she readjusted the mask and the advice that Isabela had given her – that if she were noticed she should do her best to act like she belonged there and nobody would question it.

The woman was rather tall. Human. An Orlesian noblewoman, it seemed, in blue velvet. With a harsh jaw and soft lines about her eyes beneath her mask. She seemed for a moment despondent and wistful, before a measured smile graced her face and she curtsied to Merrill with only the slightest bend of her knee. “You have wandered so far out of bounds?” She spoke with a heavy accent. “Are the entertainments of the ballroom not to your liking?”

“Oh, not really.” Merrill knew she had to be careful to only answer one of the questions. “I’m afraid I’m just a terrible dancer. I only know a few steps and a few shimmies that my friends showed me, and even they’re not very good at it. And before that I knocked Pol into the lake by mistake when I was learning the circle dance. Hahr- Instructor Paivel and everyone were so upset that I stopped attending lessons, after that.”

The noblewoman didn’t appear to be listening. Her eyes were flicking over Merrill, categorically taking her in. They landed across the line of statues tied to Merrill’s belt. “You have an appreciation for halla?” she asked.

“Oh, yes!” Merrill said eagerly. This seemed like an appropriate thing to speak about. “I have a whole collection in my library at home.” Of which Hawke had made several donations to. “I think it would be nice to have a whole little herd.”

“You do not intend to…” The noblewoman’s voice trailed off, then broke into a tittering laugh that sounded only a little manic about the edges. “I also have a fondness for them… Keep them,” she waved her hand dismissively and turned back to the sweeping view off the balcony.

Merrill thought it was a very strange thing for the woman to say, as if she had any claim to them. She stood a little too long, puzzling that, when she might have tried to get away.

“The Inquisitor came and told me, in front of the whole hall, that I was at the centre of an assassination plot,” the noblewoman tittered. “As if there has been a second I have not been since I was sixteen years of age. Only now…” she sighed. “Is there anything I am living for, but to escape death?”

Merrill bit her lip. She had no idea how to respond to that.

“Forgive me. That was improper of me.” The noblewoman turned and smiled, and she did not really sound sorry. “I was only impressed by how bold you were. Many have sought a direct audience with me tonight, scheming all sorts of ways to circumvent my soubrettes. But none have tried climbing up the side of the building to my balcony directly.”

Merrill let her eyes dart down the side of the building. She still had no idea of what to say, when the noblewoman crossed the balcony, and placed a hand to the side of Merrill’s face.

She traced the points of Merrill’s ear, ran a hand down her neck, pressed her thumb across Merrill’s cheek, like wiping a smudge, and then grabbed her by the chin and tilted it up.

She drew her thumb over Merrill’s lip, and Merrill let her line of teeth bite up into it – a suggestion.

“If you don’t mind me also being so bold?” the noblewoman asked.

Her eyes were a bright, piercing blue, and her demeanour was at once too hard and too soft, and Merrill decided she was very beautiful.

Merrill shook her head. She didn’t mind. She bit across the woman’s thumb and suckled it lightly into her mouth. And then reached for her.

Together they scurried past a bunch of very giggly ladies, and waved off a huffy set of guards, and snuck into a rather quiet and private corner by an office and a chapel. And the noblewoman fumbled with one door for a while before cursing herself – “that fool still tied to the bed” – and selected another where she sloughed off her velvet and tore off her mask and pressed Merrill into her like Merrill was her last lifeline to anything real.

And, afterwards, they sat on the bedsheet that the noblewoman laid over the rug. Merrill was rubbing the mess off her face, and the noblewoman had her knees pulled towards her chest and was tracing the edge of her mask.

“We should really return to the party,” the woman said, “before we are missed.”

Merrill hummed non-committally. The noblewoman could go back to the party, but Merrill couldn’t. And she also couldn’t let the noblewoman remember her, if she went back to the party. But Merrill didn’t want the moment to end and didn’t want to make her forget just yet, even though there was no way to stop it.

She reached across the sheet to the uncovered rug, and ran her fingers along the belt of halla statues she’d placed so carefully aside. “Do you know anything about an Eluvian? A magic mirror?” Merrill asked. Because she might as well before she made the woman forget. “I heard there was one here.”

The noblewoman seemed to freeze where she was sitting. “How do you know about that?” she asked.

“You know where it is then?” Merrill perked up.

“Of course,” the noblewoman scoffed. “It is two stories down, in the care of my Court Enchanter.” She said this dismissively, as if she were distracted. “I had assumed you were one of Briala’s. But I cannot imagine Briala would not know where it was.”

“Your… Court…?” Merrill said.

The noblewoman shrugged with affected nonchalance. She had stood, and now turned away as she bent down for her dress. But Merrill could see she was keeping a close eye on Merrill in the vanity mirror.

A vanity mirror with a golden lion sitting atop.

The noblewoman clipped a piece of golden jewellery with a pendant of the same heraldry around her wrist.

“Are you the Empress?” Merrill asked, following a wild intuition. “The Empress that razed Halamshiral?”

The noblewoman’s expression seemed confused. And Merrill wasn’t sure how you could be conflicted about a question so direct. She did turn back to Merrill at this point. “I do not understand,” she said. “You don’t- How can you not have known?”

Oh, Creators, she was. And, oh, Creators, this changed everything.

Merrill shoved her hand to her mouth in an anxious panic. She caught the nail of her ring finger on her fang, grit her teeth, tore it hard enough to bleed, and poured enough compulsion into the spell to pilot a druffalo.

The spell washed over Empress Celene Valmont easily, clearing her face of expression and inflection. Sedate. Merrill sensed she was chasing out only the dregs of a willpower long since drained.

“You’re going to show me where the Eluvian is.” Merrill stood and bent and collected her clothes and her belt and the halla statues in shaking hands. She wasn’t sure why she was anxious, when she was the one with all the control. “You’ll take me to where the Eluvian is,” she instructed. “And you’ll take me by the most direct route, where we’re least likely to be caught.”

She waited for Celene to nod, through the haze of the spell.

And it was nothing like Merrill would have planned. And she’d have to come back at a later time for the Eluvian itself, and wasn’t that a mess? But for now she knew one thing – she couldn’t leave this woman unattended with any evidence of Merrill’s time there, let alone with the whole of the Dales under her heel.

“And then you’re going to walk through the Eluvian,” Merrill told her. “With me.”

12. Vallaslin (Feynriel & Merrill, post-canon)

It seemed important that everything be set out ahead of time – knife and spice and staff, polished obsidian, and burning incense in the hearth. Merrill collected the blood in a small red potter’s bowl from a cut above Feynriel’s elbow, and added a bit of her own from a slice across the palm.

Merrill didn’t know what she was doing, and it should have been someone else – an actual Keeper, or someone who hadn’t watched Arianni raise her bow and-

Merrill bit her lip and pressed the thought away because there was no one else, and especially no one who could do these spells, valla’shivana. Like setting the blood wards. Things Marethari had showed her and yet never allowed her to perform.

“It’s going to sting,” Merrill told him firmly, because it had stung for her and she couldn’t imagine you could burn blood under someone’s skin and have it not sting at all.

Feynriel blinked and nodded. His expression had a certain austere grace, even when he was akin to a halla caught unawares. Elgar’nan was a good choice for him, Merrill reassured herself. Never mind that all of that had been discussed and decided and chosen already, along with how dark he wanted the marks across his face.

She drew the blood up from the potter’s bowl with her magic, arranged it into long tendrils to burrow up through the skin on his chin.

A burning brown Elgar’nan, she reminded herself. Like a king. Like their hopes. Like the best of them all – Dalish, Alienage Elf, Circle Mage, Tevinter Somniari.

Oh, but what did Elgar’nan’s vallaslin look like again? Suddenly Merrill couldn’t remember at all. She looked at Feynriel’s face, and he looked a little like Tamlen didn’t he? They had been cousins, right? She couldn’t remember. She could remember Tamlen’s vallaslin, but his had been for Andruil, right? Creators, she had prepared for this! Why could she only remember Andruil’s vallaslin suddenly? Too much time with shems and flat ears.

The tendrils of blood moved up Feynriel’s face, following the sharp edges of his jaw and Merrill’s intuition in a design unique to the two of them. And Feynriel’s eyes teared a bit from the pain, though he kept his face still and winced only a little in the corner of his right eye.

With these marking, he would have been considered an adult by all in the clan. But Merrill couldn’t look at him without seeing that frightened child in the alienage. Maybe that’s how Marethari had felt calling her da’len.

Well, he was being very brave and bold. So Merrill had to be as well. She still couldn’t picture them, but Elgar’nan’s markings were the one with all the curves and thorns, right? Merrill could work with that. She had to.

She set her jaw, and focused on the spell and it’s burning metallic smell, and thought no more of regrets.

“There you go,” Merrill said when she had finished the spell and set aside the empty bowl, burned clean. She handed Feynriel the obsidian mirror and turned it to the window where the light shone off Quarinus bay. “You look very grown up and handsome.”

Feynriel turned his head, examining his new markings with trepidation. “There’s a smudge. You smudged it.”

“What? No- No, there isn’t,” Merrill said defensively.

“Yes, there is,” Feynriel insisted. “Right here, below my cheek on the left.”

He pointed to a line next to his mouth that looked more like a blot.

“Oh, well...” It was a bit too obvious to deny. “Well, it’s the thought that counts,” Merrill shrugged, repeating something thoughtless she’d heard Hawke or Anders or Isabela say a time or twelve. “The details aren’t so important. It’s that everyone will know who you are and what you stand for with vallaslin across your face.”

“You absolute-!” Feynriel heaved a deep despairing sigh. “This smudge on my face is forever!”

Merrill couldn’t help the tug on her lips, the small swell of pride. “It is, isn’t it?” It wasn’t often you succeeded in creating something to outlast yourself.

13. Historian (Merrill/Velanna, Arlathvhen)

“Do you dislike it?” The woman’s words were clipped, like she’d already written off the whole affair.

“I didn’t say that.” Merrill scratched at the edge of her chin as she folded the draft back into the notebook. “I’m just not sure I understand it. It’s not a history?”

“No,” the woman said.

“But it takes place in the Dales of a thousand years ago,” Merrill said. “So there never was a woman called Anera? And she never led an army against Val Royeaux, and never saved her brother, and never lived or died or fell in love?”

It happened so long ago, it seemed to Merrill as impossible to say it hadn’t happened as it would have been to say it had. All she could say was that it seemed real to her when she had read the document.

The writer woman sighed, and turned her head into the shade of the brightly coloured Arlathvhen tent. “My Commander told me to do it. I told him I wanted stories of Elvhen heroes, and he told me to write one myself.”

Merrill wrinkled her nose a little. “That seems...”

“Arrogant? Clueless? A fucking stupid shem thing to say?” the woman finished for her. The words were more harsh than those Merrill had been searching for. “It was. But it didn’t change the fact that I wanted to write anyhow.” The woman wrung the skin at her wrist. She came into the tent in traditional Dalish robes, but she still wore a buckler on her arm with the Heraldry of Griffons and Grey. “Maybe I wanted there to be a hero called Anera.”

“Maybe you’re the hero,” Merrill said, and then blushed and held her palm to her mouth. She hardly could have helped it though. The woman was brash and unapologetic, and tall and beautiful, and a Warden. And she had marched to the Arlathvhen all by herself to share her work by herself. Merrill wondered if anyone could have found it in themselves not to admire her.

Velanna’s skin was just pale enough to flush. Her ears flattened to the side of her face. She looked irritated by the presumption and when she snipped back it was unduly defensive. “Maybe you’re the hero.”

14. Kitten (Anders/Merrill, Act III)

“What’s that?”

Merrill blinked at Anders’s confused face, and then back down at the kitten in her hands. “A tabby,” she said, even though she privately thought it was a very stupid question. “You said you wanted one, didn’t you?”

Some series of expressions flitted across Anders’s face. And Merrill didn’t quite catch them all, but she understood at least his anger and frustration when-

“Andraste’s f-” Anders choked down the curse. “I don’t have time for this, Merrill. The messenger-” He reached out his hands and waved, at once seeming to pull her in and shoo her away.

Merrill simply held the kitten up and wrinkled her nose in distaste at his batting hands, before he finally seized her by the shoulders and dragged her inside the clinic.

He stood her to one side of the ramshackle room, and Merrill pet the mewling kitten to soothe it.

Anders was muttering to himself as he crammed equipment into a beaten briefcase. “All the gods old and new – damned us all. I don’t have time. I can’t save anyone. I don’t have time. I can’t help you. I can’t help anyone.” He repeated this, working himself into a very quiet frenzy.

Merrill found it very strange, but Anders was often strange and temperamental and didn’t make sense, and he changed his mind about all sorts of things from one moment to the next – like about whether he’d like a tabby, apparently. And he cursed to himself and lifted the trap door to his hidey-hole and shoved the briefcase and a chest and an overstuffed pink pillow inside.

He ripped the iron handle off the wood of the trap door and tossed it down the hole, before turning to glare at Merrill. “The cat’s going to have to be quiet or we leave it.”

“Alright,” Merrill said. Acknowledgement, rather than her being silly enough to speak for the kitten.

But Anders seemed to take from it what he wanted to hear, because he seized her again, and the kitten with her, and shoved them first down the ladder under the trap door.

It was cramped in this storeroom of sorts. With a heap of trash and moldy furniture and the chest and the pillow. And it was only a few feet deep to the ceiling without any solid ground. Merrill laid sideways against a plank of wood, and clutched the whining kitten to her chest, and Anders practically fell in next to her.

He waved a small bit of force magic – not his specialty – perhaps to get something to pin the door down. “I can’t help you. I can’t help anybody,” he said, as if to himself. He was trying another spell and it didn’t seem to take. And then- “Andraste’s knickerweasels,” he hissed at her. “Would you help me already?!”

“Right,” Merrill started to attention, because she’d been focused on how close together they were and how dreary this place was. “What did you need?”

“Anything to hide or barricade the door. No spells you have to hold.”

Merrill nodded and, with barely a moment’s consideration, selected a spell to grow out the wooden edges of the trap door to weld with the stone and canvas and Darktown walls. It was only a small spell, and her mana was sufficient without the supplementation of blood.

She was lost in focus when Anders shook her shoulder violently, to cut the spell, and Merrill’s ears were ringing suddenly with the clattering of tin on tin and the gait of marching soldiers and-

“Templars?” she whispered curiously. “You’re not usually-“

“Shh!” Anders hissed harshly into her ear.

Anders had shifted against the storeroom trash heap, and wrapped an arm around the back of her head and down her side, and Merrill realised the tabby had gathered in the crook of her arm, and Anders had shoved a knobby finger in the kitten’s face. And the kitten, either searching for a teat or lashing out in fear, had sunk her teeth into the flesh hard enough to bleed. And none of this mattered to any of them.

Merrill wondered how small a sleep spell could put a kitten under, and how small a sleep spell could be sensed by those in the clinic above, and she wondered why a visit to deliver a kitten had turned into one of Anders’s fabled clinic raids.

He was trembling a little, and his coat smelled, and he was uncomfortably bony to lay upon. Merrill wasn’t sure she felt something for him out of pity, or simply because it had been a very long time since anyone had held her. But she turned a little into his chest and tried to forget where she was for the next few hours at least.

...

“Why didn’t you fight them?” Merrill asked later, when they finally climbed back out into a ruined clinic. Resuming the line of questioning she’d abandoned before. “You’re not usually afraid of them.”

Anders didn’t look at her, but at overturned shelves and crates and graffiti scratched onto the wall. “I’m always afraid of them,” he disagreed brusquely.

Maybe that was true. But he was usually afraid of them in a way that meant more ripping them limb from limb.

The kitten scratched at Merrill’s arm. Retaliation for being held hostage.

“I couldn’t have them calling the annulment because of me, if I retaliated here,” Anders said. “I’m not ready yet.”

“You know even if they do, it won’t be your fault,” Merrill said sensibly.

“I know that!” Anders whirled around, hissing defensively like an angry cat. “I don’t care whose fault it would be, I just need it not to happen!” He seemed to lose energy here, and buried his head in his hands. “I’m not ready. I can’t save anyone.”

“You’re trying really hard, for someone who says they can’t save anyone.”

Anders groaned. “What do you want, Merrill?” he said wearily.

“I want you to take care of this kitten,” Merrill reminded, holding the tabby up in her arms.

“Well, I can’t,” Anders said petulantly. But he reached to take her off of Merrill’s hands anyhow.

15. Bookend (Merrill & Varric, The Last Straw, Double Drabble)

“How are you going to write me?”

Varric’s eyes were locked somewhere else, across a horizon so glassy it looked like it might shatter. “Excuse me?”

“You said it was a tragedy,” Merrill reminded. “But you never told me what kind of character I would be.” Naiveté and hubris. Within a play of morality. “What will I be doing?” she asked. “Who will I be with? How will I act?”

Varric laughed, and Merrill could tell how hard he’d tried to make it sound genuine. “What kind of question is that, Daisy? You’ll act like yourself.”

Merrill thought that could have meant quite a lot of different things. “I’d like to play someone good. Not the main character, I don’t mean. But someone heroic.” She waved her hand through the air like an arrow. “I’d swoop in on the back of a griffin – his name is Feathers – and I’d help to save the day.”

“We don’t always get what we want, Daisy,” Varric sighed.

As the sun rose over the Gallows, it cast the rubble from the toppled slaver statuary into the light. It had felt such a relief to finally tear it all down.

“No,” Merrill agreed. “We don’t.”

Thanks again for reading~

#month of merrill #my writing #dragon age

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enasallavellan · 3 years

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Chapter 135

If you’re willing and able, feel free to my ko-fi here to help me keep the lights on!

Read the full fic at my A03 here!

Cassandra pulls Enasal to interview her about her time in the Fade, and the two clash.

Feel free to click on the links to get a little mood while you read!

Myuu - Silent Turmoil

Within hours Cassandra had found her, ordering her to come with her into one of the empty towers. “We need to discuss what happened at Adamant.”

Enasal’s heart dropped to her toes.

As they climbed a flight of stairs, Enasal had already begun to shake. She was going to yell at her, she just knew. Just as she had done when she had defended Varric’s decision to hide Hawke. Would she try to grab her or hit her like she had done him?

But instead, she sat down at a table, where a pile of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell lay waiting.

“Everything you remember of your journey in the Fade, leaving nothing out.” Cassandra readied the quill, avoiding looking at her, “Speak slowly, if you please.”

Uneasily, Enasal recounted the whole tale. Between the present company and the long, harrowing tale, she stumbled over her words, occasionally forgetting common and being forced to sit and snap her fingers as she tried to think of the right words. Cassandra said nothing, but her stare of annoyance was enough to quicken Enasal’s pulse.

When the tale was done and Enasal’s legs were shaking with the anticipation of booking it out of the room, Cassandra finally spoke.

“I am trying to gather as many reports of what happened at Adamant Fortress in the Fade.” She folded the stack of pages together, writing “Inquisitor” on the back. “Writing does not come naturally to me… it is as if it were written by a dim-witted child.” She put the labeled stack aside and pulled a fresh piece of parchment, “So I am forced to simply write the words of those who were there.”

Enasal fought the urge to get up and leave, fists gripped tight under the table as she searched for the words. “That’s… a good idea. Have you gotten everyone else's?”

“Save for Solas’, yes.”

The silence that draped over them was heavy.

Cassandra sighed, “One day, historians will look at these events… I will not have them dissolve into ignorant legends and rumors.”

When she said no more, Eansal rose on shaking legs to leave.

“Inquisitor.”

Enasal’s hands wrung in front of her, but she forced them to her sides when she turned, “Yes?”

Cassandra was staring at her interlaced fingers on the table, “The Chantry teaches us that the souls of the dead pass through the Fade… so it could have been her, could it not?”

Enasal looked away, “It was just a spirit… like how I’m just someone who caught a stupid anchor.”

A tapping sound caught her attention and she looked back to see Cassandra tapping on the table, “Perhaps it saw Justinia’s soul… it might have admired it enough to carry on with her wishes… perhaps.” Her voice had a note of desperation in it, a deep wanting for her own beliefs to be validated.

With a sigh, Enasal tilted her head left and right, “I mean… maybe? She looked just like her and what little I… saw.” Again, the flash of an old woman letting the spiders drag her down so that Enasal could escape flashed in her mind. “It might have been.”

Hoping it was finished, Enasal murmured a goodbye and turned to leave.

“Inquisitor.” Cassandra’s voice had hardened, “Do you think it is truly wise to allow the Grey Wardens in our ranks?”

Somewhere inside, something cracked.

“Do you think it was truly wise to allow a group of rebel mages into our ranks?” Enasal snapped, “After all, they could get possessed at any point! Or how about all those spy networks? The Carta?”

Cassandra stared down at the table, hands slowly clenching into fists and shoulders hunching.

“What about Bull? After all, he’s a Qunari spy, right? I mean, can we prove that the information he’s sending back won't risk our operations? Or Dorian, he’s from big scary Tevinter! What about all of them, Cassandra?”

The balled fist was brought down on the table.

“You’ve made your point, Inquisitor.”

The wind dropped out of her sails and she suddenly felt exhausted. She returned back to the table, collapsing into her chair. She rubbed her face, pressing her palms in an attempt to hold back tears, “I know I mess up, Cassandra.” She sighed, “And I know this might have been one of those times… but what’s done is done and-”

“You want them to have a chance at redemption.” Cassandra finished.

Enasal let her hands drop to the table and she nodded. “Everyone deserves a second chance, Cassandra. Wouldn’t you want one if you made a big mistake?”

Cassandra pushed her chair back and stood up, “I should go find Solas.”

Enasal leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands.

“Inquisitor?”

Enasal made a vague sort of noise.

“I do not believe your gaining the Mark was an accident.”

By the time Enasal had jerked her head up in surprise, Cassandra was nothing more than footsteps echoing down the stairs.

Exhaustion gave way to guilt as she thought about what she had said. The way Cassandra had practically crumpled as she shouted, like a sort of breakdown. She had taken her own frustrations and doubt and thrown them at Cassandra, as though she had been to blame.

And despite it, Cassandra still believed she was “chosen.”

She didn’t know rather to cry, or scream, or punch something.

Maybe she could go check on Cullen.

That would give something to do with all the nervous energy.

Spirited Away (slowed to perfection + reverb)

He was already at work, standing at his desk as he wrote. A stack of blank parchment on his right and a roll of it on his left, names after name written on it.

“Your chair isn’t for books and papers, you know.”

Cullen glanced up and smiled sadly. “I take it went badly.”

The forced smile fell from her face, “How did you know about that?”

“Cassandra told me she was going to talk to you.” He said, rolling his stiff shoulders, “I asked her to be as gentle as possible.”

“She tried, I think.” She fussed with a curl that had been falling into her eye recently, “But I sort of… lost my temper with her.”

He raised his eyebrows, “You?”

She nodded, “I just… I know she’s upset about the Grey Wardens but… then I started thinking about all the other decisions I’ve made that upset people and I just… snapped.”

He sighed and took her hand, pulling her towards him, “We’re all a bit tightly wound right now, I think.”

Her head clunked in the slightest as she let it fall against his chest plate. “You talked to Mother Gisselle?”

“Yes. There’s much to organize. There are many different… final rites to be taken into account.”

Enasal felt herself smile, “I’m glad you’re thinking of the non-Andrastians.”

“Of course.” He said, “As we were discussing it, I thought of you and… when you told me not to burn you.” He squeezed her tight, “We’re trying to decide how to make it all done.” He sighed, “Either way, there will be a week of mourning.”

“A week of mourning?” She asked.

He nodded, “Stores close, any unnecessary work is ceased… it gives people time to stop and pay their respects.” He sighed, “Not an easy thing to do on the field.”

“That makes sense.” She looked up at him, “How many letters have you done?”

He laughed bitterly, “Ten. A grand start.”

“I’m here to help.”

Cullen kissed her forehead, “And for that, I’m grateful.”

He cleared the chair in his office for Enasal to sit in and put the scroll of names between them. A dot was placed by the name that each had started on, and they steadily worked their way down the list. It was slow going and by the second hour, the stack of finished letters seemed absolutely minuscule compared to how many names were left. Her own fingers were cramping, despite Cullen having done twice as many as she had - maybe more.

She waited until he signed one of the letters and set it aside to take his hand, “We should take a break. This is a lot.”

He sighed and flexed his fingers, “Perhaps you’re right…” He looked at the finished pile and rubbed his temples.

“We’ll come back to it after we get some food.” She promised, gently taking his writing hand and rubbing the palms with her thumbs.

Cullen nodded, “Alright…”

With another forced smile, she hugged him tight, “I’m sad, too.” The words felt stupid and childlike - completely inadequate for what Cullen was going through.

“It’s never easy.” He wasn’t looking at her when he spoke, staring off to the side.

She gently pulled his hand to start him out the door, “Sew it into your heart, remember?” She said, “That way, we always remember.”

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. After a few seconds he opened them again and smiled down at her wearily, “So, we will.”

If you’re willing and able, feel free to my ko-fi here to help me keep the lights on!

Read the full fic at my A03 here!

#enasal lavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age inquisitor #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fic #dai #dai fanfic #dai fic #Cassandra Pentaghast #seeker cassandra

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errata98 · 4 years

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Fanfiction I Read in 2020

I didn’t realize how long this post was going to be until I was about halfway through. And it still is not even close to exhaustive.

Soo, while 2020 has been such a tumultuous year one great thing about this time in my life is that I’ve had more time than ever to read. I am always so blown away by how much talent there is in fanfiction, so big, big thank you to all the writers that share their work and for whisking me away from real life into something far more pleasurable. It definitely makes my whole day when a fic I love has been updated, and I enjoy catching glimpses of rough drafts and the writing process via tumblr (I’m still trying to understand how their galaxy brains even work lolol).

It’s long, but I am not putting it under a cut! They’re too good!

Long Fics (>= 50k words)

Roses From Where Thorns Grow by @bdafic [incomplete]- I started this a while ago, must have lost track of it, and then found it again this summer. Feels weird to type because this is not really me irl lol but accidental pregnancy fics are one of my favorites kinds of fics. Papa Solas is amazing. Somewhere, I once tagged something with ‘solas dad best dad’ and I think that probably sums up my feelings on the matter. The last chapter I read has left me anxious for more, so I’m eagerly awaiting what will likely be the first chapter posted in 2021.

Ruins by @luzial [incomplete] - A real story of a couple who broke up, fought each other for twenty years, got sent back in time, and are now trying to make things work again ;) Lavellan here is older and wiser in all the ways that matter, and Solas is... well Solas in many ways is everything we wish he would (and could) be now. Had the most wonderful realization that I somehow missed the last chapter that apparently came out on my birthday, so I know what I’ll be doing later.

Fen’Harel’s Teeth by @5lazarus [incomplete] - the conversations in this fic are one of my favorite parts. They’re in character, but they’re also just interesting to read. The words just fly across the page -- it’s smooth, seamless, pithy. I love politics and I love a main character who has her wits about her -- both are in this fic. Also features fatherly!Solas, which I just adore.

By the Still Waters by [orphan account]. This is older, but I knew it was popular so I gave it a shot and... yes, I understand now. I loved reading something from Fenris’ perspective. I loved how he’s a foil for Solas. I love seeing Lavellan as this near mythical person because we see everything through Fenris’ eyes. I love Hawke and Fenris together. Merrill also featured more heavily than I anticipated and she had some of the best lines I’ve ever read.

Pressure Point by 17734 [incomplete] - this fic leaves me constantly unsettled (in the best, most addictive, under-your-skin kind of way). I’ve read the first 18 or so chapters twice, and it’s one of those stories that’s slightly different the second time you read it. I really like the author’s take on immortal beings, some of it is very reminiscent of some of the Greek mythology I read in school - characters are at turns both magnificent and terrifying. The language is also very beautiful, and I’m a sucker for anything close to prosaic.

Out of Time by destinies - so, I don’t know how I found this beyond just “Twitter.” This isn’t Dragon Age related -- it’s from The Greisha Trilogy, which I had never heard of before -- something just told me I would really like this story. Forced/political marriages’, memory loss, enemies to lovers, the dichotomy between light and dark embodied by a single couple... yes, thank you. I had to kind of piece the world together as I read, which was admittedly a lot of fun, and um... wow, I really loved this! Another one of my ‘binged in a single night’ fics.

Message Sent by @aicosu [incomplete]- this is coincidentally how I got my former partner into Dragon Age lol. I had originally read it the first time as it was coming out. The second time I read it aloud to them over the course of a few days, feeling very much like Cassandra trying to do certain character’s voices. It reminded me of how much I loved it, and so I feel like it deserves a mention here. Definitely an unorthodox but memorable way of cursing someone with being emotionally invested in the Solavellan romance

Short Fics (< 50k words)

nothing on my tongue by @ellstersmash - the chapters here are short, and I loved seeing the fic updated put of order. This was my first time experiencing that, and I loved guessing where we were in the in-game timeline, and also, as more chapters were posted, which chapter numbers were still missing and therefore what the missing chapters might be about. I associate this fic with feeling kind of melancholy a lot. I think the word constraints really lent itself well to the Solavallen romance -- beautiful and poignant, but always leaving me wanting more.

In and Out of Time Again by @luzial - hoo boy did I have a fun time reading this one. I actually rarely go for AU’s this “AU”, but I trusted this author, and it paid off. In fact, I think I subconsciously had more doubts than I thought because what started a curious perusal ended in one of those “up until 3 am reading” kind of nights. It was such a fast-paced, interesting read, I couldn’t wait to see what happened next. Ink is one of my favorite Lavellans; she’s just too cool.

The Fourth Day by sass_bot (@knightava) [incomplete] - this was just such a perfect example of how to build tension and dread for the reader, that I still think about it frequently. Also, who wouldn’t love a Skyhold murder mystery?

Beyond the Veil by Pyreite [incomplete] - A 200 years post-Veil fic. Abelas is in it, which is how I knew it was gonna be good hehe. I really like the world-building, and I like explorations of the romance with a more hardened Lavellan.

I Come to You With Nothing by CommonEvilMasterMind. I’ll preface this by writing that this made me cry with a mixture of sorrow and happiness. The premise is an undercover mission in an alienage which involves Solas and Ellana masquerading as a married couple. It’s beautifully written, and just honestly kind of bittersweet. The writing is itself very touching but I also think it’s almost difficult to read because the Solavellan romance has an arc that looks like it’s just exponentially deviating from anything remotely happy lolol

That Girl Is Like A Sunburn by @yourstrulycommandershepard - I just discovered this person’s writing this year and I’m kind of obsessed? I went on a whole binge this past summer and *fans self*. I picked this one for my list because I haven’t read that many Solas/Trevelyan fics, and hers are by far some of my favorites. I also love that the titles of some of her fics are Taylor Swift lyrics. I get Solavellan vibes from so many of Taylor’s songs - glad it’s not just me!

Aravel by @playwithdinos - More Papa Solas. I can’t say anything more than it hit me right in the vhenan.

Wake Up by queenofkadara (@pikapeppa) - One of those fics I thought about for days afterward. The characterization was incredible, and it hurt me to read about Varric brining up Lavellan and seeing Solas’ reaction, and it hurt even more to be left wanting for more, just like Solas.

#2020 #dragon age fanfiction #mostly #solavellan fanfiction #2020 masterpost #maybe this time next year it wont take me 2 hours to make my 2021 masterpost #the power of tagging #bdafic #luzial #5lazarus #17734 #aicosu #ellstersmash #knightava #pyreite #commonevilmastermind #yourstrulycommandershephard #playwithdinos #pikapeppa

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goth-surana · 3 years

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Hope and Hopelessness Chapter 4

Chapter 4 of 7(?)

Main pairing: Anders/Male Hawke

Main tags: Angst with a happy ending, tranquil!Anders, cure for tranquility

Summary: After some time on the run with Hawke, Anders is caught and made tranquil. Hawke cannot bring himself to kill him, instead chasing a distant hope that there may be a cure.

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Hawke was on his last fucking legs when the letter arrived. More dead ends, more people recognizing them and therefore more fights

The inquisition was handling some amount of the chaos in the world, but enough was left that Hawke and Anders still had to make their way through.

Hawke wished they could still be helping the rebel mages from afar, but now they were too concerned with their own survival. Now Anders was practically defenseless. Sure, he still knew how to swing a staff as a weapon, but he was no longer the powerhouse he used to be without his magic.

Hawke used to get frustrated with Justice a lot, but now he missed the bastard. He may have worked Anders to the bone, may have been somewhat unreasonable, but by the Maker had he protected Anders. Hawke didn’t have to worry so much, knowing Justice was there.

When the messenger found them Hawke almost punched her in the face. She moved too quickly, too silently.

“I’m a friend!” the scrawny elf said after she deftly avoided Hawke. “Tethras sent me.”

She handed Hawke the letter, and scurried off without a word.

Hawke opened the letter and what was inside stole his breath away.

“We found a cure. I’ll grant you safe passage to Skyhold.”

Hawke’s hands went numb holding that letter, his eyes fixed on that first sentence.

It couldn’t be real. It. It couldn’t…

Hawke made it to a back alley before his knees gave out and he sank to the ground. His hands shook, his shoulders shook as he began to cry.

There was hope. There was a way to bring his love back.

“Hawke?” Anders asked. “What has upset you?”

Hawke just shook his head, unable to stem the flow of tears. He had stopped crying so long ago, and now that he started again he couldn’t seem to stop.

Anders waited patiently for him, standing passively. Eventually Hawke stopped crying long enough to speak.

“We’re going to Skyhold.”

Anders regarded him for a moment. “Okay.”

Hawke stood on shaking legs, then stared at Anders. He looked into his vacant eyes and thought about how they would be once more filled with emotion and anger and laughter, full of everything that made Anders himself.

There was hope. Hawke hadn’t been needlessly torturing Anders every day, hadn’t been prolonging his suffering for nothing. Hawke had made the right choice.

On the first night of their journey to Skyhold, Anders had figured out the contents of the letter.

“There is a cure,” he said simply.

“…why do you think that?” Hawke hadn’t been sure how Anders would react. Would he resist?

“Because of your emotional reaction to the letter. You have not cried like that in some time. I thought at first that you were given evidence of an inability to cure tranquility, but were that the case you would have killed me when we were away from sight.”

“You… you were going to let me kill you?” Hawke asked.

“I was not certain you would. The news would have to be either of a cure or of the absence of a cure to cause your reaction. If I ran from you I would likely die. But if I stayed with you there was a small possibility I would not die.”

Hawke just shook his head. Even after all this time, Anders’ blank deductions broke his heart just a tiny bit more. Only now there was an end in sight.

“You’re not going to resist?” Hawke asked. “I thought you were fine being tranquil.”

“I am,” said Anders, “but you are not. If I stay with you, you will force me to go through with the cure. If I run, I will die. I am skeptical about this cure you speak of, but I do not want to die.”

Another blow to Hawke’s heart. But Anders was right. No matter what Anders’ feelings on the matter were now, Hawke would make sure he was cured. He remembered what Karl described tranquility as, knew Anders could never truly be happy in such a state.

Before Hawke would have said he would never force Anders to do anything. Anders’ whole life had been full of others forcing their will upon him, Anders deserved to be free…

But not this time. This was Hawke’s breaking point, and he was making this decision for Anders.

They didn’t talk much during the rest of the journey. Hawke wondered if Anders was nervous about being cured, if he was even capable of nervousness.

Hawke didn’t know how he felt right now. It wasn’t happy, not yet. He wouldn’t be happy until he saw Anders returned to him. Until then, he was… hopeful. That too was a foreign feeling after so long. Hawke may have refused to give up hope completely, but he had been living with so little of it that it couldn’t be felt.

Skyhold was incredible, massive and daunting. Hawke and Anders both covered their heads with cloaks, it was still a secret that they were coming here. Many here would see Anders dead, so Hawke was content with the secrecy.

How many of those people also wished him dead, he wondered? Fewer, he knew. While he was an outlaw, a strange tale of a hero still followed him. Hawke found that strange, because he made it clear he supported Anders. Hawke doesn’t even know if he would have stopped him if he knew about the chantry… it was an awful thing, but wasn’t Kirkwall full of awful things? Hawke had done many awful things… with far less noble intentions.

Varric’s tales of Hawke as a hero had overwritten his past as a scoundrel, it seemed. A very affable scoundrel, but a scoundrel nonetheless. Hawke knew Varric’s stories also portrayed Anders in a positive light, despite how angry he was. But that wasn’t enough to sway public opinion. Why was that, Hawke wondered? Was it just easier to hate a mage, easier to love a man born from noble blood?

If Hawke could, he would take all the hate for Anders onto himself. He played no small part in the escalation of the violence in Kirkwall, although Varric tended to omit those parts. Hawke fought the bloody night commander at every turn, and probably had some hand in making her paranoid enough to try to annul the Circle.

It was no use dwelling on the past. Could there have been a peaceful solution to the monster that was Kirkwall? Probably not, in Hawke’s opinion. Others might say different, and maybe they were right, but Hawke was a jaded man. He had just seen too much.

An inquisition soldier met Hawke and escorted him and Anders through the stone halls. The young man was clearly nervous, knowing who he led.

They came to an imposing set of doors, and were let into a wide room with a large table in the center. Chairs surrounded the table, and Varric sat in one. Hawke caught his friend’s eye and wished he could muster a smile. He hadn’t seen Varric in a long time.

Next to Varric sat a woman who must be the Inquisitor herself. Whatever Hawke expected, this was not it.

It wasn’t that the woman was Tal-Vashoth, it wasn’t that she was a mage. He had thought she would be imposing in her stature, and maybe she was at her full height. But right now she was leaning on one elbow, long brown hair falling across her shoulders as she looked up at Hawke with sad, tired eyes.

Hawke recognized that look, it was the look of someone who needed a fucking break.

“Champion,” she said, smiling slightly. There was something familiar in her appearance, in her coloring and her ice-blue eyes.

The woman stood and walked over to Hawke, extending a hand. Hawke had been right before, she was more imposing at her full height. Hawke and Anders were by no means short, but she was at least a head taller.

“Rosalind Adaar,” she introduced herself, shaking Hawke’s hand.

Oh, Hawke realized. She was the daughter of the Tal-Vashoth couple that had saved his and Anders’ lives. The world had an odd way of playing jokes on him.

Hawke was about to respond, when the world decided it would be even funnier. The doors burst open, and in walked Cullen Rutherford.

Hawke barely had time to balk before he was speaking.

“Adaar, what is the meaning of this? Varric sent for Hawke?” He asked incredulously.

“You knew!” Came a new voice, a woman’s voice. She was tall, carried herself like a warrior and had short black hair.

“You lied to me! You always knew where the Champion was.”

“Why is-“ Cullen began, and then his eyes landed on Anders. The man’s expression turned to shock.

Hawke stepped in front of him, holding out a protective hand.

“Don’t get any ideas!” Hawke snarled. “We were promised safe passage by your inquisitor.”

What in the Maker’s name was Cullen bloody Rutherford doing here, and why hadn’t Varric told him? It seemed Varric was lying to quite a few people these days.

“Cool it, Curly,” said Varric, getting up from his chair. “He’s telling the truth, Sunflower promised they would both be safe here.”

Hawke presumed “Sunflower” referred to the Inquisitor. Varric seemed to have a thing against calling anyone by their name, excluding Hawke. Hawke had always wondered if it was because his name already sounded like a description.

“No!” The woman exclaimed in surprise. “Do not tell me… if that is the Champion, the man with him-“

“Is under my protection,” Adaar cut in firmly, her arms crossed. “I am Andraste’s chosen, am I not? That’s what you always say.”

The way she said that and the look she gave the woman spoke of some backstory there. An old argument.

“I will not allow this inquisition to shelter that murderer!” The woman responded.

“My inquisition,” Adaar said. “You keep telling me it’s my call to make, that I need to step up as the leader. Well I’m bloody doing it now, and I extended my protection to Hawke and Anders.”

The woman was about to reply when Anders took his hood off, probably because it was obvious now who he was.

“You’re tranquil…” the woman said. “I had not heard that. You could have told me that, Inquisitor. I would not have objected to his being here as much as I do now.”

Hawke wanted to punch that woman. She sounded relieved, relieved that Anders wasn’t dangerous. Wasn’t that how everyone saw mages? The rest of Thedas liked to pretend they weren’t the Qunari, but “dangerous thing” was all that mages were to them.

“Cassandra…” Adaar said calmly, but tiredly. “He won’t be tranquil for long. I’m testing out the cure.”

“You wish to return this murderer to his full power?!” Cassandra almost yelled. “Inside our base! Inside all we have worked to build!”

“I wish to return this man to his mind,” said Adaar. “Does his being tranquil make you feel safe, Seeker?” Adaar practically sneered. The two women may be coworkers, but something was clearly bubbling under the surface.

“Of course it does,” replied Cassandra, “you know well what he is capable of.”

“The same as I’m capable of,” said Adaar. “Same as any mage. Would it make you feel safer if I was tranquil too?”

Hawke felt he should really not be in the middle of this. He had clearly walked right into a storm.

“I have never begrudged you for what you are! You are the Inquisitor, and I have always respected you as such.” Cassandra shot back.

This only made Adaar’s face grow darker. “I am a mage, Cassandra. I have always been a mage, always will be a mage, even if you refuse to acknowledge it.”

“I do not see you as merely a mage!” Cassandra responded, frustrated.

“You don’t see me as a mage at all!” Adaar raised her voice, clearly some deep frustration boiling over. “Say it Casandra, say I’m a mage because it’s what I fucking am! I know none of you want to see it, none of you want to reconcile that you work for a mage, I know you think I’m different, but I’m not! I’m just like the others! If you’re so happy with fucking tranquility then brand me right now, because every mage you feel glad is tranquil is me. We are the same!”

Cassandra took a step back, still angry but somewhat stunned. “I would never wish you tranquil.”

“Every mage you hurt is me!” Adaar replied, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “None of you see it because you’re all so busy pretending I’m not a mage! Do you know what Sera said to me the other day?”

Adaar almost laughed, but clearly she was miserable.

“I know you and Sera don’t always see eye to eye-“ Cullen began, raising a placating hand.

“She was worried, because of my training as an arcane warrior, that I was becoming like them! Like other mages! Dangerous things…”

Tears fell from Adaar’s eyes. “I’m sick of it. You all say you respect me but do you respect what I am?”

Cassandra had no answer for that. She looked taken aback, and tried to regain control of the conversation.

“This-“ she pointed to Anders, “is an important matter. You still let a murderer into Skyhold-“

“We’re all bloody murderers!” Adaar snapped. Then she took a deep breath and steadied herself. “… I’ve made my decision as Inquisitor. You may inform the inner circle but no one else. Leliana already knows.”

She sounded so very tired, as tired and full of hurt as Hawke was now accustomed to feeling.

Cassandra left in huff, storming from the room. Cullen made to leave as well, when Adaar stopped him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Cullen.”

“Adaa- Rosalind, please don’t think I would ever want you tranquil…”

The man looked genuinely hurt. What a joke, Hawke thought to himself. This monster had stood by when dozens of mages were made tranquil. Something was clearly different about Cullen now though, especially as the Inquisitor didn’t actually look mad at him.

“I don’t think you do,” Adaar assured him, “I don’t think any of you do… and you know, you actually see me as a mage. I don’t have to be someone I’m not around you… so thank you.”

“I know that has been a source of contention between us in the past…”

“What we fought about was better than the silence I get from the others,” Rosalind huffed. “And you know we’re past that. I know you were a Templar and I recognize that about you, you know I am an apostate and you recognize that about me. You’re my friend, Cullen.”

Hawke must be fucking dreaming. Cullen, friends with an apostate? This Rosalind woman was showing him genuine charitability… she must not know who he was. Hawke filed that away for later in his mind, but didn’t voice anything. It wasn’t his business, he didn’t know these people. He was here for the cure, nothing else.

Well… he had agreed to help them with Corypheus, that was part of the exchange. Before he hadn’t thought of that as his responsibility, he had already tried his hand at killing the bastard. But the inquisition’s spymaster still wanted his take on the situation.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Champion,” Adaar said. “I am… not at my best, currently.”

“Don’t worry,” Hawke replied, “I’m not either. And just call me Hawke. Kinda got sick of the whole “Champion” thing.”

Adaar chuckled. “I can relate. I’ve spent so long being the Inquisitor now, it’s hard to remember being myself. Rosalind, Roz, Adaar…even Sunflower, those all suit me better.”

The room was silent for a moment after, all present acknowledging how tired they all were. Thankfully, Cullen left. Hawke breathed a sigh of relief. Cullen may be different now, but Hawke didn’t trust him around Anders. Hawke still remembered his words back in Kirkwall, his actions back in Kirkwall.

“How do we cure Anders?” Hawke asked the room. This nightmare needed to be over soon.

“Right,” said Adaar, giving her head a small shake. “It turns out that the Seekers of Truth have known the cure for tranquility for some time now. They… they kept it from the world…”

Adaar’s eyes were brimming with tears again, she looked furious.

“The Seekers that you’ve been working with,” Hawke pointed out.

Adaar smiled sardonically, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Cassandra didn’t know… but those above her did. I’m… I’m so sick of this place, honestly, but I’m too involved to leave. I have too much power at my disposal to leave, I have the power to help mages.”

The conviction in her voice was so painfully familiar. Hawke smiled at the woman. Adaar continued to explain.

“To cure the tranquil, a spirit must touch their mind. The problem is convincing a spirit to do that, so a spirit healer is needed.”

“And you have one?”

“Not yet, but Leliana sent for Commander Surana.”

“Surana’s a spirit healer?” Hawke asked, startled. The woman hadn’t seemed to have much of a knack for healing. Hawke’s shoulder remembered that.

“Leliana said she learned on the battlefield,” said Varric, easily sliding into his role as storyteller. “So her methods were… unconventional and untrained.”

“But she can connect with a spirit of the Fade,” came a new voice. Entering the room was a red-haired woman that Hawke knew must be Leliana.

“And,” the woman continued, “my beloved is willing to make the connection to help her dear friend. She should be arriving tomorrow.”

“We will be safe for the night?” Hawke asked, frowning.

“As long as you are under my protection, no one will touch you,” Adaar said firmly.

“Why are you doing this for us?” Hawke asked, trying and failing to let his guard drop for even a minute. The world was cruel, they shouldn’t keep meeting people who were kind. First they met Adaar’s kind parents, and how she was going out of her way to help.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Adaar told him. “Anders started something incredible, something I never thought I’d see in my lifetime. Ever since I was a girl I’d known that tranquility would likely be my fate were I ever caught… thanks to him, there is a future where the next little Vashoth mage grows up without that fear. Where every mage has a family like I did.”

Leliana spoke next. “My feelings on his actions may be complicated, but he has allowed the dream of my beloved to come true. Adaar and I want to build a world without Circles, where people like my Regan will never be caged again.”

“And,” Varric added quietly, “… people care about him. He was a good friend.I wasn’t just gonna let him stay like this, and Commander Surana wasn’t either. You know, Hawke, you don’t have a monopoly on caring for Anders.”

Varric chuckled while he said it, but the sincerity in his voice brought tears to Hawke’s eyes.

“I…” Hawke said, making sure he kept his composure. “I suppose I just got used to being his only protector.”

“And you’ve done your job,” Varric assured Hawke. “You brought him here. Now let the rest of his friends and supporters handle it. We’ll bring him back to you.”

Hawke took a sharp breath, covering his face as he began to cry. This was real. This was happening.

#handers #anders/male hawke #anders/hawke #m!handers

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pikapeppa · 4 years

Text

Fenris/Rynne Hawke: Disappointment

A (VERY late) prompt fill for @talesfromthefade, for @dadrunkwriting Friday!

Set during the later end of Act II. It’s basically a drunken conversation featuring some cuteness, but even more angst, pining, and UST. 😭

~6100 words (SORRY, MY PROMPT FILLS ARE LONG). Read on AO3 instead.

************************

Fenris was sitting at the table in his mansion and struggling with a copy of Hard in Hightown when he heard a knock at the door.

It was more of a bang than a knock, really, and the sound instantly put him on alert. Before he could reach for his sword, though, he heard the laughter.

His shoulders relaxed. Hawke, he thought ruefully, and he went to open the door.

Hawke tripped into his house with a giggle, followed closely by the scent of brandy. “Fenris!” she chirped. “I’m so glad you’re here, I was about to — hic — set up camp on your front step if you didn’t answer the door. Would you care for some wine?” She haphazardly waved a bottle of wine in his direction.

He hastily took the bottle before it could hit him in the face. “Er, thank you, but no. How much brandy have you had?”

She turned to him with wide eyes. “Brandy? Me? How did you know?”

“You smell like you were bathing in it,” he said dryly.

A beautiful grin lifted her lips. “Wouldn’t that be the dream? An entire — hic— bathtub filled with brandy, just for me. I could be persuaded to share with you, though.” She shot him a saucy wink, then began meandering toward the table. Her gait was loose and lazy with booze, yet somehow her hips were still moving with their customary alluring sway, and Fenris eyed her wistfully as he followed her to the table.

She gasped and petted the pages of his open book. “Ooh, were you reading?” she asked brightly.

He grunted and scratched the back of his head. “Trying to, in any case. It’s slow-going.”

She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “Can I help you? I can help, if you like.”

He eyed her with a touch of exasperation and placed the wine on the table. “You’re hardly in a position to be assisting with this at the moment.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “I’m not that plastered. I’m only a tiny bit plastered. Look, I can absolutely help you with this.” She peered at the page. “Now if only the letters would stop moving all over the place.”

Fenris huffed and pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down, Hawke. You look as though you’re about to fall over.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. Then she promptly plopped down on the floor and started pulling off her boots.

He shook his head, then sat in the chair he’d just pulled out. “What is the special occasion?”

She smiled blearily up at him. “Hm? Occasion?”

He gestured at her. “Is there a reason you’re this drunk?”

“Do I need a reason?” she said. “Maybe I’m just full of joie-de-vivre, as the Orlesians would say! But Orlesians would probably also spit on my taste in Rivaini brandy, so never mind that.”

Fenris frowned slightly. Her tone was as jocular as ever, but she wasn’t meeting his eye as she spoke. “Were you at the Hanged Man?” he asked.

“I was,” she said cheerfully. “Varric and Bels and I got into this fabulous darts tournament, and–”

She broke off suddenly and looked up at him in horror. “Oh fuck. Oh shit. Did you want to come? Oh Fenris, I’m sorry, I should have come to get you before going to the Hanged Man but I didn’t even think about it, I just went straight there, I’m sorry–”

He waved her off. “You went straight there from where?” he asked.

“From the Gallows,” she said, to his surprise. “I took Mother to visit Carver today, and–” She snorted. “Can I just say that it went swimmingly well? Swimmingly, splendidly well. It’s definitely something I’ll be doing again, perhaps in fifty years or so.” She broke off with a goofy giggle.

Ah, he thought. Now it made sense. Something unfortunate must have happened during her visit to the Gallows with her family.

“Did it truly go well?” he said quietly.

She finally met his eye, and for a brief second, her smile slipped before returning to her face. “It did!” she said. “Mother was happy to see him, even though he could just visit the house when he gets his leave days. Can you pass me that wine?”

Fenris hesitated. It was probably a bad idea for Hawke to have anything more to drink. But she was a grown woman who was free to make her own (possibly poor) decisions, and who was he to tell her what to do?

He reached across the table and picked up the bottle of wine. Then he came to join her on the floor. By the time he was settled beside on the floor, she was beaming at him with so much uninhibited fondness that it made his stomach twist.

He dropped her coppery gaze and pulled a small knife from his pocket, then pried the cork out of the bottle. But instead of offering it to her, he took three big gulps.

She laughed. “Fenris, you boozehound! I thought you didn’t want any.”

I don’t, really, he thought. But if he didn’t drink any of it, Hawke would drink the whole bottle by herself.

“I changed my mind,” he said, and he offered her the wine.

She beamed at him. “You beautiful thing, you. You’re joining in with me.” She took the bottle and took a long drink, then lowered it and gave him a quizzical look. “What were we talking about?”

“The Gallows,” he said. “Your mother.”

“Ah yes! Oh, Mother.” Rynne laughed and shook her head. “She said the funniest thing. There I was, talking to Carver and just, you know, needling him about the usual stuff. Asking about his love life, pointing out the irony of him becoming a Templar in the first place, the usual sort of thing. And my mother…” She snickered. “My mother jumps in and starts carrying on about how Carver was just trying to support the family while I went swanning off to the deep roads.” She snorted with laughter. “Can you believe that? ‘Swanning off to the deep roads’! Those are the words she used. As though—” She broke off with another giggle. “As though the deep roads are some fancy Orlesian spa that you and I and Varric and Anders just bloody decided to ‘go swanning off to’ for a few months.” She chuckled some more and lifted the bottle of wine to her lips, and Fenris watched with a pang as she took a few gulps.

When she lowered the bottle, he gently took it from her hand. “Did you set her straight?” he asked. “Remind her of the reason why we were gone so long?” Namely, that Bartrand had locked them in the ancient thaig, resulting in the need to wander even deeper into the cursed bowels of the thaig before finding a way out?

“Oh Maker, no,” Hawke said. “I never told her why we were gone that long.”

He lowered the bottle and stared at her in surprise. “You didn’t? Why not?”

Hawke snorted. “Are you kidding? She’d have a fit if she knew. She’d fuss and carry on about how dangerous it was and how she never wanted me to go in the first place, even though we needed the fucking money to get the fucking Amell estate back.” She broke off and took a deep breath, then smiled at Fenris and pointed at the wine. “Can I have some of that?”

He quickly took another big drink before handing her the bottle. She took a sip, then broke off with a snort of laughter. “She thought all this time that I swanned off for months. Can you believe that? The deep roads weren’t exactly a cake walk. D’you remember those rock wraith things that were eating the lyrium down there?”

Fenris sneered. “Ah yes. And that hunger demon.” He shot her a reproving look. “I still think it was unwise for you to offer it sandwiches.”

“And I still think it was worth a shot,” she retorted. Then she sighed and offered him the bottle. “Ah well, what’s done is done. It’s just…” She huffed in amusement and shook her head. “She wanted the fucking Amell estate, so I got it back for her. Next time she wants something, maybe I should just become a Templar too.”

Her cheeky smile was still in place, but she was too drunk for the smile to fully hide her true feelings. Fenris eyed her sympathetically, but he didn’t know what to say. He had no experience with providing any kind of comfort.

He took another sip of wine and wracked his brain for something to say. “I wasn’t aware that the Templars were accepting mages among their ranks,” he said finally. “Has Cullen found a soft spot for you that I didn’t know about?”

She grinned at him, and his heart fluttered; her smile was genuine and warm once more. “Oh Fenris, don’t be silly,” she said. “Cullen has had a soft spot for me all along. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”

“Hm,” he said. “I suppose all that scowling and telling you off could constitute a soft spot, according to some.”

“Exactly,” she giggled. She took another sip of wine, then gave him a pitiful look. “I know I’m barging in on you and all, but I wasn’t in the mood to go home just yet. Is it all right that I came here instead? Any safe port in a storm and all that.”

He frowned. Safe port in a storm? “Are you concerned that your mother will harm you when you return home?” he said quietly.

“No no, of course not!” she exclaimed. “It’s just a figure of speech.” She barked out a laugh. “My mother, harm anyone? Don’t be ridiculous. She couldn’t harm a wasp even if it was about to sting her.”

Fenris eyed her skeptically for a moment, then shrugged. “You can stay for a visit. I suppose it is only fair, since I…” He trailed off awkwardly. He was about to tell her that her house had become something of a safe space for him as well — a place where he felt at ease, almost at home, particularly when he and Hawke were lounging together in front of the fireplace in her study. But to admit such a thing would be veering far too close to telling her how much he still longed for her, and he didn’t dare let the conversation venture there.

It was surprising that he’d even said as much as he had, in fact. He usually did everything in his power to keep his tenderness for Hawke under wraps, for fear of letting her think there was a chance of them being together again. Why had he nearly said something now?

She offered him the bottle of wine; it was three-quarters empty. That explains it, he thought in resignation. With a small sigh, he took the bottle and drank from it once more.

Hawke stretched her legs out and leaned back on her palms. “So! What were you reading before I came bursting in to ruin your night?”

He lowered the bottle with a smirk. “You really couldn’t tell? You are that drunk?”

“I am quite spectacularly drunk, yes,” she agreed.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were only… what was it you said? ‘A tiny bit plastered’?”

She snorted. “What is this, an interrogation in Aveline’s office?” She poked his arm. “Come on then, tell me. What were you reading up there?”

“Hard in Hightown,” he said. “Varric gave it to me. I am only on page ten or so.”

Hawke chuckled. “Of course that’s what Varric gave you to practice with. Any excuse to get more readers.” She suddenly straightened up and gasped, and Fenris recoiled slightly in surprise; her face was bright with enthusiasm.

“I just had the most fantastic idea!” she chirped. “You should write a book!”

He wrinkled his nose. “What would I write about? And besides, I can’t write.” He didn’t tell her that he’d been secretly writing terribly-spelled letters to her since the day he’d mastered the alphabet. That was one secret that even his half-drunken mouth would never spill.

She waved one hand dismissively. “You’ll be able to write in no time, you’re brilliant. And the book should be about your life, of course!”

He frowned. ��My life? Why?”

“Because you’re strong and handsome and interesting. And you lived with the fog warriors!” she exclaimed. “You probably know more about them than anyone in the whole of Thedas!”

His frown deepened. “Reflecting on that time in my life is not exactly pleasant, Hawke. It did not end well, if you recall.”

She wilted. “No, I know, I just meant… oh fuck, I put my foot in it, didn’t I?” She nervously patted her cheeks. “Maker, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think about awful things. I was hoping to make you think of nice moments when you were with them since I know you liked living with them, but… ah, I’m an idiot. Don’t listen to me.” She reached for the bottle of wine.

He allowed her to take the bottle. “It’s all right. I already knew you were an idiot.”

She shot him a grateful smile. They passed the bottle back and forth for another minute, and when it was empty, Fenris placed it on the floor beside him.

“You’re not wrong. I did enjoy living with the fog warriors,” he said. “It was… unusual to spend time around people who were not afraid of me. But I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised; the fog warriors were the most courageous people I ever knew.” He draped his arms loosely around his knees and glanced at Hawke. “Even their children had no fear of me.”

She nodded and didn’t speak. Her expression was a picture of attentive focus despite the boozy flush of her cheeks, and something about her attention prompted him to go on when he usually would not.

“I remember the first time I stepped into their… settlement, for lack of a better word,” he said. “I was weak after healing from my injuries. Every step I took required a great deal of effort. But as I walked through their settlement with one of their healers at my side, a child approached me. A boy, perhaps five or six.” He grimaced. “Or maybe seven; I’m not familiar enough with children to guess their ages.”

“Five, seven, it’s all the same,” Hawke said softly. “The little boy approached you. What happened then?”

Fenris tilted his head as he remembered the moment. “He was holding a ball that looked to be made of dried branches and twine. He stopped and stared at me, and I was certain he was going to run away. Or perhaps throw the ball at me in disgust. I’ve suffered worse from children in Minrathous. But…” He slowly rubbed a hand through his hair. “He asked in Seheronese if I would play with him. The healer translated for me, and I… I didn’t believe her, and I didn’t believe the boy. I thought they were taunting me. I…” He swallowed hard. “I went back to the tent and didn’t come out again for another day. But the same boy approached me again when I emerged. He continued to approach me until I agreed.”

Hawke’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “You played with the fog warriors’s children?”

He shrugged. “I had little choice. They are very persistent.” He gave her a tiny smile. “All of their people are persistent. Stubborn and determined. Or… they were, at least, before I…”

Blood. Screaming. Women and children fleeing, to no avail. The horrible images flashed through his mind, raw and undimmed by time, and Fenris dragged a hand through his hair as though that could pull the memories out.

The only time he had ever seen fear in the fog warriors’ faces was when he had put it there.

“Hey,” Hawke said softly. “I’m glad you were happy while you lived with them. I know it ended badly—”

“I killed them all,” he snapped. “It ended badly because of me.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you feel responsible. But I’m still glad you were happy there for a time.”

He stared hard at her for a moment, but her expression was calm and steady — surprisingly steady for someone who was so drunk.

He sighed and shifted his position on the floor. “I was happy with them; you’re right about that. The only time I could ever remember being happy, really. Before I came to Kirkwall, at least.”

Hawke perked up. “Before you came to Kirkwall? Does that mean you like living here more than being in Seheron?”

He huffed at her hopeful tone. “I don’t know that I would say that. But… this city has its charms. They may be few and far-between, but it does have them.”

“Like what?” she asked.

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Such as… that apple pie at that one particular stand in Hightown.”

Hawke nodded. “Oh yes, that pie is fantastic. What else?”

“The music at the Hanged Man isn’t completely terrible,” he said.

“I do love the music there, it’s true,” Hawke said brightly. “Anything else?”

She looked so hopeful. Fenris gave her a chiding look. “Why do I get the sense that you’re fishing for compliments?”

Her beautiful amber eyes grew wide – suspiciously wide. “Me? I never! I never ever fish for compliments. Particularly not from broody handsome elves with the sexiest voices I’ve ever heard.”

He scoffed and rubbed his mouth. “Kaffas, Hawke. You will make me blush.”

“I’m not talking about you,” she said. “I’m talking about some other elf.”

She clearly was not. Her smile was coy and warm, and it made his ears feel uncomfortably hot. “I see,” he said dryly. He absently rubbed the red scarf on his wrist and studied her from the corner of his eye. She was humming to herself now and gazing at her bare feet with the sort of vacant smile that made it clear how drunk she was.

Then he surprised himself by speaking again. “I suppose some of the people here are tolerable as well,” he said.

She perked up. “Oh really? Like who?”

Fenris shrugged and leaned back casually on one hand. “Sebastian is a fine man.”

Hawke snorted. “Perfect Sebastian. He doesn’t count. He makes everyone look bad. Who else?”

“Varric,” Fenris said. “He’s forgiven my gambling debts on more than one occasion.”

She let out a scintillating laugh. “Has he? Oh, Varric. He’s such a soft touch.”

Fenris smirked and gazed idly at her legs – lovely legs that were regrettably covered by trousers. Lovely legs with soft golden skin that was so smooth beneath his hands…

Before Fenris could stop himself, his drunken mouth was opening once more. “You are good company, as well,” he said.

Her face lit up with a slow and breathtaking smile. “Am I, now?”

He shrugged and ignored his suddenly thrumming heart. “You can be. When you aren’t aggravating me.”

She raised one hand innocently. “Those were all failed attempts at flirting, I swear.”

He gave her a chiding look. “That’s hardly a comfort, Hawke.”

“It should be,” she said. “I’m usually a very good flirt.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said wryly.

Her smile widened. “Maybe I should try harder, then.”

Her cheeky voice was ripe with its usual humour, but there was something more to her tone now: something husky and heated that made Fenris’s clever retort fade away on his tongue. He studied her face carefully, and his heart jolted; only now was he realizing how close she was. She was sitting right next to him, and although they weren’t touching, they were so close that they might as well have been. Her knees were almost brushing against his thigh, and she was leaning in as though to take shelter against his chest, and he… kaffas, his shoulder was curled toward her as though he wanted her to take shelter against him.

A rush of excitement filled his rib cage, followed by a surge of terror. I can’t, he thought. He couldn’t let her get any closer. Not because he didn’t want to; venhedis, there was nothing he wanted more. But the closer she got, the more she would see just how damaged he truly was, how unprepared he was for what she was trying to give, and he couldn’t… He couldn’t stand it. The thought of looking into her perfect amber eyes, of seeing their heat replaced with pity instead...

She wet her lips, and Fenris was instantly distracted by her mouth: her lush raspberry-red mouth that he vividly remembered kissing, even though it had been almost a year.

Then Hawke nibbled her lower lip, and Fenris could feel his own lips parting as though by instinct — as though the movement of her lips was a siren call, a lure drawing his own lips to react, to lean closer to her, to breathe in the wine-scented warmth of her breath…

He inhaled slowly, and his heart thudded in his ears. She smelled exactly as he remembered, of sandalwood and sweetness and a hint of sweat from dancing at the Hanged Man, and overlaid on it all was the scent of the wine she’d drunk — that they’d been drinking together.

Then Hawke’s hand rose slowly toward his face.

His breath stuttered, but his heart burst into a galloping race. Her fingers were reaching for him, reaching for his cheek, reaching so slowly that he knew she was giving him time to stop her. But he was frozen on the floor with Hawke sitting so close to him, so damned close that he could smell her intoxicating scent, and her fingers were drawing nearer still…

She stroked his cheek gently: so incredibly gently, with just the tips of her fingers. And with that one simple touch, the buzz of longing in his gut hit a fever pitch.

Fenris closed his eyes and turned his face toward her fingers, and her thumb brushed over his lower lip. He exhaled shakily, and he was distantly aware that his breath sounded far too much like a groan.

“Fenris,” Hawke breathed.

Fenris. That was all she said: just his name in her husky voice. But it was almost enough for him to come undone. His name in her voice, carried through the air on a breath of desire: fasta vass, it was too good, too evocative, too strong of a reminder of the past — of the mistake he’d callously made by going to her in a moment of anger-fuelled impulsiveness.

A mistake he was primed to repeat right now, in a moment of impulsiveness that was fuelled by alcohol instead.

He reached up and grabbed her wrist. “I can’t,” he rasped.

Her eyebrows tilted in a way that made his chest ache, but he forced himself to stay still, to not move, to not bridge the mere inches that separated his lips from hers. He held her wrist in a steady grip and stared steadily into her glittering amber eyes, and he forced himself to remember – to remember the way those same amber eyes had filled with tears when he’d walked away from her before.

The memories of their night together still tortured him, along with all the attendant reasons why he couldn't let this same mistake happen again. He was an empty shell whose history had been carved away and replaced with anger and hate, and nothing about that had changed in the year or so since he and Hawke had tumbled together into her bed. He was still the same broken man, the same ex-slave with a mind as scarred as his body, and in the time that had passed since that one glorious night in Hawke’s arms, Fenris had failed to make any changes in his life.

He hadn’t tried to find his sister. He hadn’t done anything other than take on jobs as an errand boy and follow Hawke and her friends around in their ill-advised adventures. He still sat alone in his mansion at night fuming about Danarius and Hadriana and all their misbegotten ilk. He was still just as blank and ruined as he’d always been, and he couldn’t… he didn’t dare inflict that on Hawke, not again, not even if he was drawn toward her in a way that he’d never been drawn to anyone else before.

They sat frozen on the floor for an interminable minute, Hawke’s fingers a hairsbreadth from his cheek and her wrist entrapped by his intractable grip. Fenris stared into her eyes and ignored the plumpness of her lower lip, and he prayed for the strength to move away from her now – right now, right this second now, now before his frenzied thoughts led him away from the reasons he shouldn’t touch her and brought him back to all the selfish reasons that he should.

And oh, the reasons he should, the reasons he wanted to fall into the crystal clear pools of her eyes and take what her slightly-parted lips were offering: those reasons were… fasta vass, they were far too close to the front of his mind. The pleasure of her body stretching beneath his own, of her needy gasps filling his ears, of her comforting hands cradling his face as she told him that there was nothing ruined about him–

“I can’t,” he snapped. He pulled her hand away from his face and turned away from her, dragging shaking fingers through his hair as he did.

For a brief, terrible moment, Hawke was silent. Then she laughed.

“Of course!” she said brightly. “Of course, I didn’t mean to – I was just, um – I’m terribly drunk, you know, and it’s – I should go home. I’m just about ready to fall asleep right here on your floor, which probably means I should go crawling into my bed before I end up like another one of those corpses in your corners here.” She snickered and pushed herself to her feet, and Fenris watched painfully as she stumbled toward the door.

She wasn’t wearing her boots, though. Fenris hastily pushed himself upright and ignored his own slightly spinning head. “Hawke, wait,” he said. “Your boots–”

She cut him off with a haphazard wave. “It’s okay, please, don’t say anything, it’s like it never happened.” She reached for the doorknob.

Fenris darted forward and planted one hand on the door. “You need to put on your boots,” he said. “You can’t go out without boots.”

“Why not? You do it all the time,” she said belligerently.

Fenris raised his eyebrows, but before he could reply, she sighed and sank down to the floor. “Ah, you’re right. My feet are terribly tender and delicate. Where are my bloody boots?”

Fenris silently brought her boots and socks, then waited with an ugly mixture of fondness and misery as she clumsily pulled them on. When she was finally shod once more, she stood up and did a dramatic curtsy.

“On that sparkling note, Rynne Hawke takes her leave,” she announced. She giggled and opened the door, then promptly tripped on the front step.

Fenris snatched her arm and her waist before she could hit the ground. “Fasta vass,” he complained.

She didn’t reply; she was far too busy laughing. Fenris sighed heavily, then stepped out of his mansion and pulled the door closed behind him. “Come on, Hawke,” he said wearily, and he looped his arm around her waist to guide her home.

She hiccuped and squeezed his arm. “Did you see I—” She broke off with a giggle. “I didn’t even make it one step out the door! Oh Fenris, aren’t you pleased I came to your house tonight to entertain you?”

“Not particularly,” he muttered, but not for the reasons she thought. He hadn’t had his hands on her this much since the night they’d spent together, and her drunken state wasn’t making the curve of her waist any less appealing. And his drunken state wasn’t making it easy to maintain the barriers he’d been building to keep her at bay.

She squeezed his arm again. “I know, I’m horrible, I’m a nuisance. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll — hic — bring you some of that apple pie that you like first thing in the morning, bright and early. You’ll be woken by the smell of fresh-baked— eek!” She tripped over a paving stone with a squeal, and Fenris scowled as he pulled her upright.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “If you cause a disturbance, I will be the one who’s blamed.” He scooped her up into his arms and continued in the direction of her mansion at a faster pace.

She gripped the collar of his tunic and beamed at him. “You hero. You chivalrous thing. You’re making a drunken girl’s dream come true.”

“Perhaps you can return the favour and keep your voice down,” he scolded softly. He was already on Hightown’s radar as ‘that elf of Hawke’s who squats in the derelict Vint mansion’, and he didn’t want anyone to find a reason to complain to Aveline again about his presence.

“All right, all right, I’m being quiet now,” she stage-whispered. Then, to his surprise, she actually fell silent.

He carried her in silence for a couple of minutes. She eventually rested her head against his shoulder, and he guiltily savoured the scent of her chestnut hair. But she still didn’t speak, and eventually Fenris wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

He glanced down at her, and his heart lurched; her eyes were closed, but her face was tinted with melancholy, and there were tears trickling down her cheeks.

He hastily looked up at the path ahead, but his entire rib cage was aching now, as though his heart was swelling and pushing against the walls of his chest. He ought to say something – something to soothe her, like the way she was always trying to soothe him when he was angry. But he was the cause of her distress, so what was there to say?

He swallowed the lump in his throat and didn’t speak, and they made the rest of the trip to the Amell state in silence.

As they approached the door, Hawke finally spoke. “Don’t knock. I don’t want to wake her.”

Fenris nodded. “Where are your keys?”

“In my pouch belt,” she said. “You can put me down now. I promise I won’t disgrace myself by falling onto my own front step.”

Her tone was cheeky and warm, and for some reason, this made his chest hurt even more. He shook his head slightly. “I’ll bring you safely inside.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “All right. I won’t complain about being carried by Thedas’s most handsome elf.”

He scoffed softly, then waited as she pulled out her keys and unlocked the door. But as they were moving toward the stairs, Leandra’s bedroom door opened.

Leandra stepped out with a scowl. “Rynne, I’ve been beside myself—” She stopped short at the sight of Fenris and clutched the neckline of her dressing gown.

“Surprise!” Rynne exclaimed, and she patted Fenris’s chest. “Two for the price of one!”

Fenris cleared his throat. “Hawke, keep your voice down,” he mumbled.

She pulled a little face. “Right, right, people sleeping and all that,” she whispered. Then she blew a kiss to Leandra. “Hello, Mother! Go on back to bed, all right?”

Leandra stared at them for a moment longer, then lifted her chin and went back into her bedroom. As soon as the door was shut behind her, Hawke burst into giggles.

“Maker’s balls,” she whispered. “She’s going to be furious in the morning when you’re not here. I might not be able to bring you apple pie after all. I’ll be too busy nursing the new asshole she’s going to tear me in the morning.”

Fenris grimaced at the vivid image, then headed for the stairs. When they were in Hawke’s bedroom, he set her down on the bed.

Hawke snickered to herself as she pulled off her boots. She clumsily shucked her vest, then started pulling her shirt over her head, and Fenris hastily turned away.

He awkwardly tugged his ear. “I’ll, er. I’ll just…” He trailed off and started shifting toward the door.

“She’s disappointed,” Hawke said.

He glanced cautiously at her. She was tucked in bed and covered up to her chest, and her lips were curled in a sad sort of smile.

Fenris took a cautious step closer to the bed. “She will get over it soon enough.”

“No, I mean she’s disappointed that I’m not Bethany.” Hawke’s smile widened. “Honestly, so am I sometimes. She had the most perfect milkmaid skin. I bet you would have loved her too.”

His heart twisted painfully. Whatever Bethany’s virtues were, there was no doubt in his mind that she would never have found her way past his armour and burrowed beneath his tainted skin the way that Hawke had.

But he couldn’t tell that to Hawke. Such words meant nothing if he was incapable of backing them up with the devotion that she deserved.

He swallowed hard. “Get some sleep,” he said softly. “I will see you in the morning.” He slowly made his way to the door.

“Fenris?”

He glanced at her. “Yes?”

“Do you want to know what I like best about living in Kirkwall?”

“Half-off Tuesdays at the Hanged Man?” he suggested weakly.

She let out a bark of laughter. “Aw, half-off Tuesdays. That’s almost my favourite thing.”

He leaned against the door jamb. “I give up, then. What do you like best?”

“Running around this fucking place with you,” she replied.

In the dim lantern light of her bedroom, her smile was sweet and free of guile, and Fenris felt his throat growing thick once more. He felt the same way, of course; Kirkwall would have no value if not for her. She was the reason he had decided to stay, even after the exquisite disaster of their night together. Even knowing he was no good for her, he was incapable of leaving her side.

He gazed at her for a moment and drank in the perfect softness of her smile. It is the same for me, he thought. You are the only reason I’ve remained in this Maker-forbidden city. The confession crept close to the edge of his tongue, ready to spill into the soft and intimate atmosphere of her bedroom.

But the walk from his house to hers had cleared the booze-induced boldness from his mind, and he was no longer at the mercy of his selfish heart.

He bowed his head politely. “Get some sleep,” he said.

Her smile widened, and she snuggled down into her blankets and reached for the bedside lamp. “Goodnight, Fenris,” she said softly.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” he murmured. A moment later, her bedside lamp went out.

Fenris quietly closed her bedroom door, then padded silently downstairs. Orana was awake and waiting nervously by the door to lock it behind him, and he murmured an apology to her as he left. Then he was slipping stealthily through Hightown back to his empty mansion.

Once he was in the mansion once more, he sat at the table and stared at Hard in Hightown, but the words were meaningless on the page, unseen by his unfocused eyes.

Hawke thought she was a disappointment, but nothing was farther from the truth. Nothing about her was a disappointment — not her incessant jokes or her drunken visits to his home, not the fact that she was a mage, and the memories of her naked body bending beneath his hands… venhedis, nothing about those memories were a disappointment either.

It didn’t bear thinking about, though. Hawke might not be a disappointment, but Fenris certainly was, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

With that heavy thought, he closed his copy of Hard in HIghtown and went to bed.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenrynne #fhawris #pikapeppa writes

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veorlian · 4 years

Note

happy Friday! 16 from the OTP advent calendar for Hawke/Varric would be amazing!!

16. You’re robbing the bank on Christmas eve and I’m a hostage but you’re actually really nice from this list

ish ily this was SO fun to write <3 thank you for the prompt!!

(i won’t have any time to write during the holidays, so i’m hoping to get all the christmas-themed prompts up this weekend!)

It was one of those rare occasions when Varric couldn’t avoid being at the Merchant’s Guild. Andraste alone knew why his brother insisted on checking the vault on the night before Satinalia, but here they were. The imposing stone halls of the Guild were empty, save for the scratching of quill on parchment and the clacking of coins. It was only him and Bartrand, given that everyone with a brain was with their families.

“Hands in the air everyone! This is a stick up.” The voice was clear and carrying, but surprisingly cheerful. It was like they were announcing the winner of the office raffle, rather than threatening violence. Varric was so caught off guard by the tone that he almost missed the meaning of the words. Almost.

“Sister, no one actually says that.” The second voice was decidedly less upbeat. Younger sibling energy if Varric had ever heard it, and he would know.

“C’mon, where’s your flair for the dramatic?” The third voice was deeper, but strikingly similar to the first. “Excuse me, Mr. Magnificent Chest Hair, hands in the air thanks.”

Damn. Varric raised his hands above his head from where they’d been inching towards Bianca. He looked in the direction of the robbers. Their faces were hidden, and they wore cloaks to cover any distinguishing features. They were all at least 6 feet tall, and the first two carried swords that were easily Varric’s height. The third was carrying a staff.

Varric heard a familiar, disapproving cough and he sighed inwardly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bartrand asked. Varric glanced over at his brother, and sure enough, he had his hands defiantly planted on his hips.

“I’d do what they say,” Varric suggested.

“See, now there’s a man with some sense,” the first figure said. “We really don’t want any trouble, we’d just like to inspect the inside of your lovely vault there. I see you’ve already gotten it open for us, how thoughtful.” She leaned nonchalantly on the biggest sword that Varric had ever seen. He couldn’t see her face, but he could feel the shit-eating grin in his soul. It was firmly at odds with the wicked-sharp edges of her blade.

“Security!” Bartrand yelled. His next words were stopped cold with a wave of the third figure’s hand. Well, his mouth was opening and closing, but no sound appeared. The first figure clicked her tongue.

“Now now, that’s not very nice,” she murmured. “How about, to make it up to us, both of you nice folks gather in the corner over here?” She motioned towards where Varric was sitting.

Bartrand firmly crossed his arms and remained where he was. The third figure tutted and easily lifted Bartrand off the ground, carrying him over to Varric and setting him down. He patted Bartrand on the head and Varric had to hold back a laugh.

“My associates will go relieve you of your excess stock, and I’ll stay here with you two,” the first figure said cheerfully. The others moved away. Under different circumstances, Varric might have thought that that evened his odds a little bit. But he had the sneaking suspicion that trying anything wouldn’t go particularly well for him.

Ah, well, it was only money. Besides, the look of incandescent rage on his brother’s face was honestly an early Satinalia gift for him.

The figure pulled up a chair next to him, her sword still in her hands. Varric leaned back and rested his hands behind his head nonchalantly.

“How’d you know now would be a good time for a hit?” he asked casually. He caught the faint flash of teeth from a smile beneath the hood.

“Aw c’mon, that’d be telling,” she said.

“Worth a shot. Can I ask what you’re planning to do with the money?” he asked.

“You know, no one’s ever asked that before,” she said. “Granted, most people aren’t in a particularly conversational mood when they’re being robbed.” Varric arched an eyebrow. So they’d done this before. Maybe there’d be a record somewhere.

“I’m a writer, I love a good story,” he replied. She shrugged and leaned back.

“Alright then, Mr. Chest Hair the Writer. There’s a whole hell of a lot of refugees that are going to be going hungry during the holidays. What’s the point of having all this gold sitting in a vault gathering dust when it could be buying food and gifts?” she explained.

“How very noble of you, if it’s true,” he said, genuinely surprised.

“Why would I lie?”

“Oh, any number of reasons. It’s usually more fun than the truth, for one thing,” he replied. She chuckled, the sound like music to his ears.

“A man after my own heart. Okay, how about I’m planning to commission an erotic statue of Andraste to ship off to the Chantry in Val Royeaux? Then the extra cash will be for a massive sword in the shape of a dragon,” she said.

“Now see, that’s more like it,” he said, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face.

“Oi, we’re ready to go,” the second figure called. The woman nodded and stood up, her hand still on the hilt of her comically large sword.

“I suppose you won’t tell me your name?” Varric asked quickly. The figure hoisted a massive bag of gold over her shoulder and glanced back.

“We’ve only just met,” she said, “at least buy me a drink first.”

In the days after, Varric reached out to every contact he had, going through reports of crime sprees in Kirkwall. It was no easy feat. Kirkwall had just so much crime, holy shit, no one should live there.

In the end, he found her entirely by chance. He was working late in his suite in the Hanged Man, and he caught the distant sound of the voice that had been echoing through his head at every hour. Dwarves didn’t dream, but if they did his sleeping hours would have been filled with the sound of that damn voice.

He picked up the bottle of whiskey he set aside for special occasions and made his way down to the common room. She was sitting in a corner towards the back, with two dark-haired men that had to be related to her. Their voices were familiar too.

Varric caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. A grin spread across her face and she motioned him over.

“I see you’ve brought me a drink. Good man,” she said cheerfully. The taller of her brothers stiffened and frowned at him, his hand moving for his weapon.

“So I have,” Varric said. He sat down next to her, about as far from the man as he could.

“Boys, why don’t you go get us some more ale?” she asked. The one with the sword glared at her, but the other one flashed an easy grin and shrugged. He looked enough like the woman that he might have been her twin.

“C’mon little brother, let’s see how many shots we can do before we pass out,” he said. They left, leaving Varric alone with the woman. There was a distinctive red stripe of what looked like blood across her nose, and something bewitching about her dark brown eyes.

“The name’s Marian Hawke,” she said, “and yours?”

“Varric Tethras.”

“Well, Varric Tethras, now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

#thank you again ish!!#hawkeish #i am physically incapable of not making everything hawke twins au #da2 #hawke #varric tethras #varric x hawke #finished prompts

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aria-i-adagio · 3 years

Note

5,10, 14,20 please!

Gracias! I’m guessing this is from the OTP asks and for Anders/Hawke. Hope it is.

10) What scares them about entering a relationship?

Heheh.

Anders, of course, is convinced that being with him will likely get Hawke killed. Or that Hawke will decide that he’s a monster who is unworthy of being loved.

Adrian gets intensely attached to people. (Anxious attachment style.) He’s deeply afraid of getting into a relationship only to lose another person he loves.

14) What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

Good news. They’re both idiots, but they’re both touch-starved idiots. Asking for it probably isn’t a problem.

Adrian is also very much a “I found this thing I thought you’d like/made me think of you, here is it. Do you like it? Please like it.” kind of guy.

20) When would they say “I love you?” Do they say it first? Do they say it often, or is it reserved for special moments?

With Anders canonical default endearment being ‘my love’, there’s plenty of evidence that he’d also be fairly free with the “I love you.” Adrian tends to be a bit more reserved. Be that as it may, Adrian said it first.

5) How do they consciously realize that they like the other character? Does it take them a while?

I guess the question is like versus *like*.

I tend to go with the idea that no matter what romance route is played that Anders has at least some romantic interest in Hawke from Act 1. But after Karl’s death, I think there’s a combination of both not being ready and believing that he’s too dangerous for anyone to be in a relationship with him.

Adrian was interested in Anders from very early on. Oddly attractive man with a ‘sexy, tortured look’ develops into honest admiration of the fact that Anders is one of the few people in Kirkwall who’s actually interested in doing something good. But he’s A) used to playing his cards close to his chest (as while Ferelden may not particularly care about same-sex relationships, there does seem to be something of an expectation that they shouldn’t get in the way of children, Leandra has definitely messed with his head, etc.), and B) he’s a small, somewhat insecure ball of anxiety who’s afraid of rejection. He also very good at repressing things, so for most of Act 1, he’s in denial of being interested beyond a “yep, that one’s handsome.”

However, have a show rather than tell. (SFW fic below. Unedited.)

Hawke has determined that he does not like the Deep Roads. And he hates Bartrand. Who the fuck does that? Leaves their brother to die over a chunk of stone, or whatever that idol was made of?

You let your brother die. You left him.

That was different. I couldn’t protect him. I tried, I swear.

Bethany sneaks up on him from behind and loops her arm through his. She leans her head on his shoulder. “Carver was already dead, ‘Dri.”

He knows that she can’t actually read minds, but sometimes he wonders whether she picked the skill up somewhere. Or maybe it’s a little sister thing. He stops walking and tilts his head to the side, touching his cheek to her hair. “I should have -”

“If any of us could have, we would have.” Bethany pats the other side of his face. “Look about, is this a decently safe place?”

The Deep Roads do require a qualifier for the word safe. Adrian lifts his head and glances around. Ahead, there’s a bridge over a chasm. If it’s sturdy enough, it will give them good lines of sight and walls on two sides. “Ahead will do.”

“Thanks, ‘Dri.” Bethany lets go of his arm and jogs ahead to where Varric and Anders are walking together, both with their weapons in hand, reasoning that if Anders could sense darkspawn, Varric might be able to take them down with Bianca before they got too close. Or thin them out. “Hey. Think it’s night yet?”

“You’re the only Sunshine I see. What’s your opinion?”

“That I’m tired.”

Varric looks around and shrugs. “Then it’s night. Might as well make camp.”

Hawke keeps watch well after they've eaten a sad and meager (who knows how long they'll be searching for an exit now?) meal of hard bread. Bethany told him that he didn't need to; the glyphs she and Anders had set on either end of the bridge would last far past the time Varric's little clockwork watch was set to come. But he couldn't talk himself into following her advice. Darkspawn had killed Carver. They were not going to take Bethany from him.

He isn't the only one still awake. Anders had laid out his bedroll as close to the fire as he could, and he huddles close to the glow of the embers. He’d panicked when Bartrand swung the door closed on in, and once it became clear that neither Varric nore Hawke would be able to pick the locking mechanism, cast multiple spells at the door before giving up on the idea of breaking through it by force. The mage had been quiet since, not even Varric had been able to draw him out.

"You alright?"

Anders lifts his face. There are always dark circles around his eyes, but they look worse in the low light of the fire. "I hate the Deep Roads."

"You could have said no." Hawke asked him to come because he had experience with the Deep Roads, and Darkspawn, and according to what was said of the Grey Wardens would be able to sense them ahead of time. "I would have understood."

Anders smiles grimly. "They're worse without a cat."

"You should try to sleep."

"You should too. Those glyphs I set were designed by a Warden mage. They're strong. This spot is as safe as it's going to get."

"Good to know." Hawke lies down, unsure whether he'll sleep, or just rest his eyes and listen for trouble. "Hey, Anders -"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Well, I'm here now."

It might have been an hour, it might have been two, and Hawke might have fallen asleep, or he might have been awake the whole time, but his eyes snap open the moment he hears something other than the crackling of coals. A low, distressed groan and panicked, incoherent mumbling. Hawke opens his eyes. There’s just enough of a glow left in the few embers to see Anders rolling over fitfully, flinging his arm out, nearly managing to catch his fingers in what’s left of the fire. His other arm falls over his mouth, muffling what might have been a scream if allowed to escape.

Hawke tosses off his blanket and crawls across the pavers to him. As he pulls Anders outstretched arm back from the fire, the mage’s eyes snap open and he bolts upright with a gasp, forehead knocking against Hawke’s chin.

“Hey there. You were dreaming.”

“I can hear them.” Anders curls forward, draws his long legs against his chest, and wraps his arms around his knees. “I can still hear it.”

"Hear what? The darkspawn?"

Anders doesn't respond with words, he just goes limp and slumps to the side. Adrian catches him and lets him lean his head against his shoulder. He's perfectly still for a minute, then awkwardly runs his hand through the mage's hair, not entirely sure Anders is awake enough to know where he is, much less who's holding him.

"Take a few deep breaths, okay?" Adrian wraps his other arm around Anders' and pats his shoulder. His joke about Anders 'sexy, tortured look' didn't seem quite as funny at the moment. "Nothing has tripped the glyphs you set. We're okay."

Anders' breathing calms, at least a little. "It's so dark. I can't do this again. I can't."

"I'd build back up the fire for you, but there's no fuel left." Varric had carefully gathered a certain dry fungus from the walls of the cages as they walked. It was the only combustible material available. "Do you hear them more, in the dark?"

"Or I hear nothing in the dark. Not a sound, not a word. I'm alone in it again, and..." The pitch and volume of his voice begins to rise and on instinct, Adrian hugs him tightly. Maker, the poor man is miserable. Hawke never would have asked him to come if he had only known.

Anders shudders and hiccups. "I can't be alone in the dark."

"I'm here." What happened to Anders that made the dark so terrifying? The Deep Roads themselves weren't always dark. Parts were. Other parts were lit by the glow of some sort of marvelous dwarven lamps that still worked after centuries. This wasn't one of those areas, and the lower the embers grow, the more Anders trembles. Without really noticing it, Adrian begins to rub his back and whisper in his ear, the way he sometimes had when one or the other of the twins woke with a childhood nightmare.

He doesn't know Anders well. It's maybe been three or four months since he sought him out to get the maps of the Deep Roads. He's good to know though - a good man. Bethany agrees. And Varric had taken the mage under his wing; Hawke knew the dwarf was paying off the Carta to leave the Darktown clinic alone.

Anders is also handsome in his own way, devilishly funny, and flirtatious, despite the very sad look he gets in his eyes if someone mentions the word Tranquil. 'I hadn't seen him in years,' Anders said, the one time Adrian got him to talk. 'But you know how it is, with first loves.'

Adrian does not actually know how it is with first loves. What relationships he had in Lothering weren't love affairs, just temporary flings with a presumed end date. A Ferelden freeholder needs a wife, needs children to help him work the land. It's just the way of things. No sense in getting too attached.

Like he's getting attached to this mage who hides years of sadness underneath dry humor. Anders has put himself back together a few times already, and right now, the cracks are showing.

"Lay back down. I'll stay with you."

It takes a few more shivers and hiccups before Anders does stretch his long limbs back out. Adrian intends to just sit next to him, maybe keep their fingers together, but Anders pulls at his arm until he lies down beside him on the narrow bedroll, on his side with his head cushioned on his folded arm. Adrian hesitantly strokes Anders' hair, and when that earns him a soft sigh, loops his free arm around the other man and snuggles a bit closer.

After all, it's not just dark in the Deep Roads, it's damn chilly as well. That’s what he tells himself.

When Varric’s little mechanical clock chimes a fake morning, Hawke still curled up around Anders, and Bethany is smirking at him.

#ask meme answers #dragon age fanfiction #hawke #anders #handers #adrian hawke

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